The Resulting Present of Respective Pasts
by InitialLuv
Summary: In 1885, a recently-arrived (and nearly-hanged) Marty discusses his scattered memories with Doctor Emmett Brown. There are also flashbacks to 1976 and 1982, concerning the first time(s) Doc and Marty met. This story is now complete, with an Epilogue that brings us back to 1885.
1. A Sore Neck and a Scattered Memory

_**Author's Note: **_This is a continuation of sorts from my first _**BTTF**_ story, "Just a Swingin'." My previous story was pretty short compared to this one, as it was more just to establish that Marty had begun getting memories from his new 1985, but that those memories were pretty incomplete. As that is a very common theme with _**BTTF**_ fan fiction, I probably didn't need to write a story preemptive to this one, but oh, well. :)

This story has a flashback to how Marty and Doc first met (another very common theme), but it starts in _**Back to the Future Part III**_, right after Emmett saves Marty from being hanged by Buford Tannen and his gang. It's slightly AU, as in the movie Emmett is shown the tombstone photograph much earlier; also, Mayor Hubert comes calling soon after Marty is introduced to Doc's workshop and living quarters. I postpone that visit, and it occurs in the Epilogue.

I hope you enjoy this!

**-ck**

_Disclaimer: I do not own _**_Back to the Future_**_ or any of the related characters.__ I have created several original characters for this story._

_**Band-Aid** is a registered trademark of Johnson & Johnson._

_I am writing for fun and feedback, _**_not_**_ for profit._

* * *

_**THE RESULTING PRESENT OF RESPECTIVE PASTS**_

**_by InitialLuv_**

**_Chapter 1: A Sore Neck and a Scattered Memory_**

* * *

**Thursday, September 3rd, 1885**

**Hill Valley, California**

He'd barely been in the new (and improved?) 1985 for around eight hours before Doc had whisked him off again—hell, he'd only been _awake_ about a half hour – and the also new memories had had hardly any time to catch up to him. Really the only thing that he'd half-remembered was prompted by Biff handing him the keys to his truck. A kind of déjà vu had struck, and he'd recalled that his father had done the exact same thing four months ago, on his 17th birthday – placed the keys to the 4X4 in his hand.

_No, on my birthday I got my Nikes and the new Dire Straits album._

And maybe he still had. The Nikes were on his feet, after all.

But once Doc had picked him and Jennifer up and they'd time-travelled to 2015, then back to 1985 (well, Alternative-1985, where he'd left poor Jennifer), then back further to 1955, and then lastly each of them had travelled individually to 1885 . . . Well, at that point, he was so befuddled about what time period he was in and if there was another one of him there or another one of Doc there or a better or worse version of his parents (not to mention Biff) there, he had a hard time remembering what had happened the day before. Or was it time period before?

Actually, he was having a hard time remembering what had happened the hour before. Just how many times _had_ he gotten hit on the head? There was Grandpa Sam hitting him with the car (he'd first bumped his head on the hood and then smacked it on the street), Biff's gang knocking him over the head in Alternative-1985, him getting slammed with the gym door at the school in 1955 Visit Two (when he'd been facing down Biff and his double had burst through the door exiting the dance), and the final time, when he'd rolled pell-mell down the hill after running for his life, only to finish his fall by striking his head as he'd fallen through the fence at his ancestor's place. He'd been given a chance to recover on all but one of the times, but if he added in the poundings from Biff, almost getting struck by lightning, and now this most recent event of being dragged behind a horse to his near-hanging. . . One person shouldn't be expected to go through so much, in such a short amount of time. Sure, he was young and healthy and relatively athletic, but that just meant he could handle himself well in a fair fist-fight, was at ease on ice skates and on his skateboard, and could run pretty fast. Natural athleticism doesn't help you when you've got a rope around your neck.

These thoughts were only some of the memories and images whirling through Marty McFly's head, as he tried to sit quietly on the hard chair in the living quarters of Doctor Emmett L. Brown's workshop. The older man had carefully cleansed Marty's scraped face and chafed neck, and was now inspecting the teen's throat with gentle hands. Emmett frowned in concentration and made a soft sound, a kind of a "hmm.""

"What, Doc?" Marty rasped.

"Please, Marty, try not to talk. I think it's best you rest your voice for a while. Your larynx could be quite swollen."

"Yeah, m' throat hurts, too."

Doc's face twisted into a smirk, which he tried to dispel without much success. "Marty, quiet."

The teen followed the direction for about five more minutes, until Doc sat back, viewing the young man from head to toe. "Any serious injuries? I have to believe you're full of bumps and bruises, but is there anything that feels broken, or sprained? I can do a more thorough examination."

Now that Marty had sat for a while, and the adrenaline from escaping death had begun to subside, he realized that _everything_ hurt. Fortunately, none of it did seem overly serious. He shook his head, winced, then whispered, "No, nothing like that. But I could sure use some aspirin."

"Fresh out," Doc smiled. "And I'd rather you not sample the pain relievers available in this time period. No, I think rest is going to be the best remedy I can suggest at this point."

Marty nodded, again grimaced at the pain caused by the head movement, and said, "You're the doc, Doc."

Emmett's face fairly glowed. "Oh, I did miss you Marty. I am still rather displeased you followed me here to this time when I distinctly told you not to, but I am very glad to see you."

"Me too, Doc. But I had to come – you see, you sent me – " Marty reached for his pocket, meaning to pull out the photo of the tombstone. Doc gently stayed Marty's hand, although with a firm gaze. "Settle down, Marty. Relax, we have time. That is just one of the benefits of having a time machine at your disposal."

"No, we _don't _have time, Doc! That's why I'm here – "

Again Emmett interrupted his friend, this time by lifting his hand in a "stop" gesture. He was studying Marty curiously, especially at the dusty, ripped clothing. "I know. I remember." He shook his head minutely, looking somewhat sheepish. "What _was_ I thinking with those clothes?"

"You remember?" Marty looked hard at his mentor.

Doc spoke slowly. "It's. . . strange. Now that I've had some time to think about it, the memories are there. Not completely, they seem to be a bit piece-meal, but it appears just your presence here in 1885 has prompted the recollections. How very strange," he repeated, his eyes becoming unfocused.

Forgetting the pain, Marty nodded intensely. "Exactly!" he said hoarsely. "My memories from the better 1985 started to come to me, once I woke up and saw the changes, but then they got kinda. . .scattered." He rubbed at his throat, cleared it softly, and continued. "I don't know what happened, if it's because I screwed everything up with the almanac and changed the memories again. . ?"

Doc's eyes snapped back into focus. "Oh, yes, that could possibly be it. It could also be because you spent a very small amount of time awake and aware in what you consider your 'improved' 1985. Or it could be because you have been out of your time for the past several days, being either in 2015 or 1955 or in the almanac-created 1985 – "

"Hell Valley," Marty muttered.

"Indeed." Emmett's expression darkened for a moment, then he remembered what he'd been talking about. "But as for your new memories becoming jumbled, I admit I really can't say definitively what the reason might be. I suppose you will just have to wait – _we_ will just have to wait – until we are back in 1985 to stay. "

Marty shifted uncomfortably on his chair. "Uh, Doc, I – well, when I said we didn't have time. . . The DeLorean kind of got beat up when I got here." Doc raised a questioning eyebrow, but didn't interrupt as the teen continued: "I mean, c'mon, I showed up between the cowboy and Indian fight, and arrows were flying all around me, and something happened to the gas tank. I guess I damaged it trying to get away, but it _could_ have been hit with something. I just know it was leaking. . . "

It only took a second for Doc to hit a palm to his head, remark the totally predictable "Great Scott!" and then rise, looking wildly around the room. Marty stared up at him warily.

"That's bad, huh?"

"Oh, I'd say that presents a problem or too, yes, Marty. Gasoline may exist in this time period as a byproduct of kerosene manufacturing, but it won't be available as a fuel for vehicles for another seven years."

Marty felt an instant pain of shame. "I'm sorry, Doc. I'm always screwing things up. I don't know why you're friends with me."

Emmett marveled at the young man's overly dejected tone. "Marty? What on earth are you speaking about?"

Marty didn't respond immediately. He tilted his head slightly, and furrowed his brow. "Uh – I don't know," he finally said. "I think I'm just beat."

"Of course!" Doc said, lifting his eyes heavenward in self-disgust. "I'll find you something you can change into that is more comfortable, and then we'll dispose of those anachronistic clothes." He strode to a wardrobe and began to rummage through it. "Are you hungry, Marty?" he called over his shoulder.

Marty grimaced, which went unseen as Doc was not facing the teen. "No, that's okay," he answered the older man. "I'm not in the mood for more buckshot."

Doc turned with a bundle of clothes. "Buckshot?" he repeated, perplexed.

"Yeah, there were pellets in the rabbit. And the water looked cloudier than Beckett's pond back home, you know when it gets that scum on it –"

Doc waved his hands quickly, stopping Marty's ramble. "Rabbit? When did you eat rabbit? _Where _did you eat rabbit? Just exactly where were you before Tannen and his gang got a hold of you?"

Marty's hand went up to his neck, and he rubbed it lightly. "It kinda hurts to talk, Doc – "

Emmett shook his head, and this time he didn't look entertained at all. He set the clothing aside, and moved closer to the teen. Brown eyes bore into blue ones, but neither man spoke. "What happened?" Emmett finally said, and the tone of his voice showed he already knew it wasn't good.

For a moment Marty contemplated lying, to avoid what would most likely be an unpleasant conversation. But it was only a moment. When he realized what he was doing, considering lying to his best friend, the man who had just saved his life. . . Well, that would make him a rotten excuse for a friend.

"I told you I got kind of mixed up in the Indian and Calvary fight, and then there was this bear, and I had to run, and I was tired and hot, and I fell down a hill. . . Right into a fence that my great-great-grandfather was working on."

"Your great-great-grandfather. You're talking about Seamus McFly."

"Uh. . . yeah." _Should've realized Doc would know him._ "Him. He and my great-great-grandmother Maggie took care of me. They fed me supper, I spent the night in their barn, and Seamus ran me to town this morning. Well, closer to town."

Doc was now pacing, still shaking his head. "Are you – are you incapable of running into your ancestors?" he demanded.

Marty was angered and wounded by the words. It hadn't been his fault that he'd time-traveled into the middle of an Indian/Calvary skirmish, and then had been almost eaten by a bear. Not to mention he'd kind of enjoyed being with his family. Maggie had been a little severe, but Seamus. . . Forget how much the guy looked like him (_or I guess **I** look like him_), but Marty had felt a different type of kinship with his ancestor, a similarity that went beyond looks. When Seamus had returned from hunting up supper to see that their young visitor appeared well recovered, he'd actually come over to embrace Marty, and had murmured some kind of Irish blessing. Then, after Seamus had skinned the rabbits and while Maggie was finishing the supper preparations, Marty was again introduced to William Sean. Seamus had been initially surprised by William's affection toward Marty, but that had quickly changed to obvious pride - which had felt weirdly familiar.

But soon those pleasant memories were overcome by a sad kind of guilt, and Marty dropped his head, staring at the dusty wooden floor. "I know, Doc, you're right. I did it again, screwed things up. I'm sorry." He lifted his head, and looked miserably at the older man. "I can't do anything right, even when I try.""

Doc stopped pacing, and he turned abruptly to stare at the young man. "There you go again, Marty. Where is this attitude of self-reproach coming from? I've never known you to be this discouraged, not even when Jennifer broke up with you over the summer. You told me you weren't giving up on the two of you, and you were right – "

"Doc, wait!" Marty crossed his hands in the shape of a 'T'. "Time out!" Doc smiled briefly at the familiar gesture and words, until Marty continued, his voice slightly distressed. "Jennifer and I never broke up! What are you talking about?"

The two men once again stared wordlessly at each other. Again it was Emmett who broke the silence, although his words were quiet and hesitant. "You . . . don't recall that, Marty? How you came over to talk to me, to tell me your precise plan to get Jennifer back, that you were convinced the two of you were 'meant to be'?"

_And of course we are, we're married in 2015, with two kids to boot!_ But Marty just shook his head vehemently. "No, Doc. You're wrong. We never broke up."

"In my memories, in my timeline, you did."

The young man rubbed the back of his neck, wincing. Emmett felt a fondness at seeing the accustomed movement, one he'd even seen George McFly employ when he was uncomfortable or nervous. But then the older man sobered, realizing that this time the gesture was more of a response to aches and pains. He again sat in front of the teen, regarding him solemnly. "We can discuss this later, Marty, when you're feeling better."

"No, Doc, I need to know. . . _Your _timeline?" Marty's face was creased in a confused frown, and combined with the obvious scrapes and bruises and the dusty, ruined clothes, the teen looked truly pitiful. It was almost so Emmett didn't want to continue, but then Marty made a "come on" gesture, and the scientist began, haltingly.

"It was barely a month that you two were apart. . . Jennifer broke up with you at the end of the school term – "

"Why?"

Doc hesitated again. He finally shrugged. "The ways of women are largely lost on me, Marty. They are a mystery and a fascination, but sadly I do not have the requisite background to begin to understand why women do what they do. I believe the phrase she used was that she 'needed space.'"

Marty made a face at that, but it was brief. "Whatever. We got back together, you said? A couple weeks later?"

"Correct. It was at the Solstice Carnival. Your musical troupe – "

"My wha – Oh, my band."

"Yes," Emmett nodded. "Your band had acquired a contract to entertain at the carnival – "

"A gig, Doc. You mean we got a gig."

"Fine." The scientist rolled his eyes slightly, but his face held a small grin. Marty smiled as well, and then his eyes widened. "Wait, my band got a gig at the Solstice Carnival?" The annual carnival, held the weekend after the summer solstice, was a heavily-attended event in Hill Valley, and boasted live music on both Friday and Saturday nights. "How could we swing that, and yet when we auditioned for the school dance they kicked us to the curb?"

Again Emmett took a minute before he replied. "That happened before we met at the mall to test the time machine, correct?" Marty nodded in agreement. "I recall you mentioned that to me, but you weren't overly upset. You actually seemed amused that they had rebuked you based on your increased sound, as your band had auditioned for the performance –_ gig_ – at the Solstice Carnival with a song that was at a much higher volume."

"We had?" Marty's eyes were still wide, and now there was a spark of recognition mixed with the surprise. "Yeah! I think I remember! We played Quiet Riot, 'Bang Your Head'!" He had a memory of there being a unanimous vote by the Pinheads to play the hard rock song at their audition. They had also played "I've Just Seen a Face," by the Beatles, just to show their range (bass player Paul, who'd been named after Paul McCartney, was an unapologetic Beatles fan), but they'd really pulled out all the stops on the Quiet Riot song. All four members had felt the song portrayed their individual talents, even though it was a little heavy on guitar solos (which Marty hadn't minded in the least). It also had a refrain in which all of the members could join, rather than a song meant only for a lead vocal. The Pinheads played their share of those songs, too, of course, and while Marty often led the vocals, he wasn't the only one in the group with a good voice. He just happened to play lead guitar as well, and the two talents had merged to automatically make him the most frequent main singer.

Although Marty had somewhat lucked into the roll. The Pinheads (named after the Ramones song "Pinhead"), had been seeking a new lead guitar player, after their current lead man, Nate, had moved to Sacramento. Paul had known Marty since Boy Scouts, and had suggested him as a replacement for Nate, even suggesting Marty be inducted without the need of an audition. Keyboardist Pete and drummer Isaac had been leery of replacing Nate with a relative outsider, but Paul had eventually convinced them. "So what if he's never been in a band? He's just as good as Nate, if not better," Paul had defended his choice. "And he just got his own axe. It's like fate, or something."

"Well, I can't recall the name of your audition song," Doc was saying now, "but 'Bang Your Head' definitely sounds like it would be a. . .loud choice." The scientist chuckled lightly. "As for the songs your band performed during your set, those were all of a theme. I do remember you sang one by that Springsteen fellow, the young man who was on that daytime television serial."

Marty looked at his friend in complete confusion, then suddenly started to laugh. "Spring_field_, Doc! Not Springsteen. You mean Rick Springfield!" His laughter died down a bit as he moaned and held his side. Emmett leaned forward in concern. "Are you all right, Marty?"

The teen waved a hand. "Yeah, just sore." He took a breath before continuing. "You must be talking about 'Jessie's Girl.' Is that the song you meant?"

"Yes, that's correct. Only you changed the lyric at the end. "

And suddenly Marty could see it. Standing on the outdoor stage under the lights, looking out over the crowd but only seeing Jennifer, playing his Chiquita and singing strongly into the mike:

_And I'm looking in the mirror all the time  
Wondering what she don't see in me  
I've been funny, I've been cool with the lines  
Ain't that the way love's supposed to be_

_Tell me, why can't I have a woman like that_

_You know, I wish that Jenny was my girl  
I wish that Jenny was my girl_

"How do I remember that?" Marty whispered. He could now also remember the rest of the set from the Pinheads' "love covers" show. "Love is Like a Rock" by Donnie Iris. "I Want You to Want Me" by Cheap Trick. An up-tempo version of the Beatles' "Oh! Darling." All picked specifically because the lyrics of the songs made him think of his relationship with Jennifer, what it had been and what he wanted it to return to. And his band mates had graciously gone along with it, mainly because the songs were familiar hits that they all could play well. It wasn't often that the group did a complete cover song show that didn't include any original music, but the guys had really gotten tired of their lead guitarist's heartsick mood.

And the sentimental song list had worked. Especially when they ended with Journey's "Open Arms." He'd barely gotten off the back of the stage, intending to help break down the set and get the band's personal instruments and amps and cables and cords back in Pete's van, when Jennifer had appeared. She'd been crying, and before he could even ask her if she was all right she'd thrown her arms around him and kissed him long enough to make him breathless.

Doc was appraising Marty, watching as the teen's wide eyes became distant and glassy. When Marty took a sharp breath and blinked, his expression changed from introspective to bewildered. "I don't get it, Doc! I'm not in 1985, but now I'm getting new memories! How is that possible?"

Emmett leaned back, then rose and began to pace anew. But this time the pacing was more thoughtful than distressed. "It may . . . I'm just conjecturing here, but it could be that as I am sharing my memories, your recollections are being summarily adjusted to fit within your perceived 'new' 1985 timeline that you had returned to, after you left 1955."

"So, I'm having 'contact' memories?"

Emmett nodded. "That's an excellent description."

Marty heaved a breath, and Doc was almost ready to simultaneously say the word "Heavy," with the teen. But instead of speaking his typical declaration, Marty instead asked, in a voice still tinged with hoarseness: "Doc, what do you remember about how we met?"

Emmett inhaled, then let out a slow breath. "How we met."

"Yeah. It's just – if your memory is different than mine, then our background – our whole _friendship_ – could be different than I remember, and I just don't know if I can handle that. . ." Marty trailed off, breathing deeply.

"You do realize," Doc said gently, "if my verbal descriptions of my memories are changing your memories, then what I say I recall _will _be what you recall."

"But if I start to tell you my memory first, and it's not the same as yours, you could lie, and say it is, just to make me feel better. I wouldn't know."

Doc smiled faintly. "You can't have it both ways, Marty. But if you tell me your memory, and it's different than mine . . . Well, I've never lied to you, and I don't plan to now."

Marty turned that statement over in his head. Had Doc ever lied to him? He'd kept things from Marty, the teen knew that, but when Marty had asked outright questions, he did seem to recall that Doc had answered truthfully, if not always in great detail. And when it was a question he didn't want to answer, he'd said as much. "I don't think that is germane to what we are working on, Marty," or "I'd rather not expound on that right now, Marty," or "That's not something I wish to discuss, Marty."

Marty took another deep breath, put his faith in Doc's honesty, and then began.

_**BTTFBTTFBTTFBTTFBTTF**_

**Wednesday, August 11th, 1982**

**Hill Valley, California**

**9: 40 A.M.**

Marty shook a small amount of granola cereal in his bowl, added just enough milk to make it moist, and tried to ignore his sister's annoyed expression.

"I don't know who you're trying to impress, eating like a health nut." Linda of the rolling eyes was digging into her second bowl of Fruity Pebbles.

Dave returned from the front door, where he'd gone in search of the paper. "Dad must've really left early this morning, he didn't even get the paper in."

Linda nodded, swallowing a bite of cereal. "Yeah, I think he had to run some errand or something for Biff before work. I heard Mom and Dad arguing about it last night."

"So did I," Dave said, tucking the paper under his arm. "Probably why Mom's still in bed with a 'headache,'" Dave did air quotes, "when it's almost ten in the morning." All three kids – even Marty, at fourteen – knew by now that Lorraine's frequent headaches and lethargic mornings were alcohol-induced. Although none of them had yet to say it out loud. Who wants to admit that their mother is a drunk?

Marty shoveled the rest of his cereal in his mouth, then reached to grab the paper from his brother. "I'll take it to her, I gotta talk to her anyway."

Marty knocked lightly on his parents' bedroom door, waiting for an invitation to enter. When he heard his mother's soft voice, he pushed in the door and held the newspaper out as a peace offering. "Got the paper for you, Mom."

Lorraine pushed herself up into a sitting position, with her back against the headboard. "Oh, Marty, thank you." She looked around the room with squinty, puffy eyes. "Do you think you could get me some aspirin and a cup of water?"

"Yeah, sure." Stepping into the bathroom of the master bedroom, Marty filled a Dixie cup with water and got three aspirin out of the economy-sized bottle. When he returned to the bedside, Lorraine was looking at the paper. She took the pills and water with a distracted air, and it was some time after that when she noticed her youngest was still standing nearby. "Did you need something, hon?"

"Ah, yeah." Marty rubbed the back of his neck, not sure how to start. "Um, you know how a while ago you and Dad said, that if I earned half the money, that you'd help me buy an electric guitar?" Before Lorraine could speak, Marty rushed on. "I have about $150 saved, and I'm gonna mow Uncle Milton's yard a few more times before school starts, and I was hoping. . ." His voice gradually lost its volume as he saw the definite frown on his mother's face.

"Oh, Marty." Lorraine lowered the paper to look somberly at her son. "I know how important this is to you, but we just don't have the extra money right now. Maybe by Christmas."

"But, you said last Christmas that maybe by my birthday, and that's come and gone." Marty knew he was whining, and fourteen-year-olds shouldn't whine, especially when one of his birthday gifts had been a new skateboard (which had helped him momentarily forget the unfulfilled promise of finances toward an electric guitar). But _damn _he was tired of getting strung along.

"I don't know what to tell you, hon," Lorraine said. "The hot water heater needed to be replaced, and the air conditioning in the car had to be fixed, and you have your acoustic guitar, isn't that good enough?"

Marty's acoustic guitar, a present he'd received from his Grandma Sylvia on his ninth birthday, had served him well. He'd taken care of it as well as he could, but it had been a relatively cheap starter model, purchased as an "experiment" to see if Marty's sudden interest in playing guitar was serious. He'd replaced the strings several times and had done his best to keep the instrument safe and clean, but the Hohner now seemed to be peculiarly out of tune, and disappointed by the hollow, rough sound, he had been ignoring it of late, letting it sit in its case propped up in the corner of his room. And even if he could salvage the instrument, he doubted he'd ever get anywhere – like in a band – with a five-year-old acoustic guitar that had really been purchased for a little kid.

But instead of saying any of that, Marty just ducked his head, clumsily checked his watch, and then said,"I want to get Uncle Milton's lawn done before he comes home for lunch. I'll see you later."

"Be careful on the death board of yours!" Lorraine called out as he left the bedroom.

**ooOoo**

Marty liked going to his Uncle Milton's house. Milton was the only sibling of Lorraine's that had a house in skate-boarding distance. Sally Elton (née Baines) also still lived in Hill Valley, but Marty could only skateboard there in a reasonable amount of time if he car-surfed, and he wasn't too comfortable doing that yet – the one or two times he'd tried he either wiped out or almost caused an accident. Doug Needles, a kid he knew from school, said he just needed practice, but Doug Needles said a lot of crazy things.

So Marty liked that he could skateboard to Uncle Milton's in a short amount of time. He liked that Uncle Milton had a dog – it was a yippy terrier, but it was still a dog he could play with (the McFly family was unable to own a dog, as Linda was allergic). He liked the fact that, since Milton was four years younger than Lorraine, Milton's kids were basically his age, being only a few months older than Marty. It was nice to have relatives that he could hang out with that weren't years older than him, and so not have to worry about being relentlessly teased (Dave) or insulted/ignored (Linda). The only issue he had with Milton's kids – twins – was their names: Milton Jr. and Mildred. _What kind of ego does somebody have to have to name both of their kids after themselves?_ he often thought. Luckily, Milton Jr. went by MJ, and Mildred went by Millie, so it wasn't patently obvious. But it was still weird.

But the thing that he liked most about going to Uncle Milton's was that if he timed his arrival just right, or offered to walk the dog at just the right time, he'd pass the Parkers' house when Jennifer was sitting on the porch swing reading a book, or outside getting the mail. At the beginning of the summer they'd merely traded glances, but now that it was August, they'd begun waving at each other and sharing pleasantries. And there were times, when Jennifer would grant him a certain smile, that Marty's stomach would flip-flop, and he'd grin back like a fool.

He liked that flip-flop feeling

Today, though, he'd been distracted by the recent depressing talk with his mother, and he'd been cruising past Jennifer's house before he realized it. Until he heard his name, called out softly, but loud enough to be heard over the whirring of his skateboard wheels.

"Marty!"

He turned to the left, and saw Jennifer in a white tank top and denim shorts, and _damn!_ – and then his skateboard hit that raised crack in the sidewalk that he usually skated around, and he wiped out, hard. As he'd also been wearing shorts – he got hot mowing Uncle Milton's yard – his bare knees were immediately skinned and scraped, as were his elbows. His hands, having slammed into the ground when he tried to break his fall, were peppered on the palms with little pebbles and random debris. _I won't be able to play the guitar for a week_, he thought randomly, forgetting that he hadn't really been playing his acoustic guitar much anyway.

Then Jennifer was at his side, helping him up, reaching to grab his skateboard, and guiding him to her porch. "That looked really bad," she said. "You're bleeding all over." She sat him on the porch swing. "Wait here, I'll get our first aid kit."

When Jennifer returned with the first aid kit (and her mother, Marty saw unhappily), the two hovered over him, cleaning his scrapes with stuff that _hurt_, and using a liberal amount of gauze bandages and Band-Aids. Then Mrs. Parker said the thing Marty had been dreading.

"I think I should call your parents. You can't ride back home on that board all beat up like this."

"No, no, you don't have to do that," Marty answered quickly. "My uncle lives up the street. That's where I was headed. I can make it there fine, and they'll get me home." He smiled wanly at the mother and daughter. "Thanks, but I'll be okay."

"Are you sure?" Jennifer reached out to touch his shoulder, and his stomach didn't just flip-flop, it _dropped_. "My mom could give you a ride to your uncle's."

Marty swallowed, trying to get saliva back into his suddenly dry mouth. "No, it's not that far. . .but maybe somebody should walk with me. In case I get light-headed or something."

And after walking with Jennifer to his uncle's, and getting an honest-to-goodness goodbye kiss from her (on the cheek, but _still_), Marty almost forgot completely about his lack of guitar-money issue.

_Almost_. But then Uncle Milton – home for lunch – saw his injuries and refused to let him mow the grass ("In that condition? You can't be serious. Your mom would have my head!"). Next, after Milton had run him home on the way back to work, Lorraine saw the same injuries and threw a hissy fit, confiscating Marty's skateboard for a week. And finally, Dave came to his room to call him to dinner, saw his brother's liberally bandaged injuries, and snorted derisive laughter.

So it was that after dinner was over and twilight was falling, when Dave was at his evening shift at Burger King and Marty's parents were settled in front of the TV (George with a lap desk of papers and a briefcase on the floor near him, Lorraine with a glass of something that was clear but was definitely not water), Marty grabbed his old board with the cracked deck and sneaked out of his bedroom window. Once he was far enough away that he wouldn't be heard, he dropped the board to the ground and kicked off in the direction of BK.

Dave McFly was momentarily surprised to see Marty skulk into the fast food restaurant, gripping his second-hand skateboard. The older brother recovered fairly quickly, and asked to take his break early. Jerking his head at Marty to follow, Dave brought his discounted meal to a back booth, and they both sat. Dave shoved his fries over to his brother. "Here. But if you want any of my drink, it's not diet – you'll have to deal."

Marty nodded quietly, munching on the fries. He watched as Dave unwrapped his Whopper and took a large bite. "How much money do you make here?" Marty asked suddenly.

Dave chewed, swallowed, and shook his head. "Don't even think about it," he said.

"Why not?"

"Why not?" Dave repeated. "For one, I don't want you working at the same place as me. Are you kidding? We'd kill each other." He bit into his sandwich again, and washed down the bite with soda. "Second, you're too young. They wouldn't hire you here without a parent's approval. And there's no way Mom or Dad will sign off on that. You're the baby." Dave took a few fries from the carton in front of his brother. "You know Mom called Uncle Milton earlier, when you were hiding in your room nursing your boo-boos. She doesn't really want you to go over there anymore."

"I know." Marty reached for Dave's soda, took a sip through the straw, and grimaced. "Wow, that's sweet." He passed the cup back. "Mom told me after you left. She said it didn't make sense for Uncle Milton to pay me to mow when he's got MJ to do that. That he was basically paying MJ and Millie allowance and me money and he couldn't afford to do all three."

"That does kind of make sense, twerp," Dave pointed out.

"The only reason I started doing Uncle Milton's mowing was because Millie can't even get the mower started, and MJ hurt his knee in football camp," Marty defended himself.

"Yeah, but that was last summer. His knee is fine now. You're basically redundant." Marty scowled, then shoved some more fries in his mouth. Dave shrugged, taking another bite of his burger. "I don't know why you want money so bad, anyway," he said around the food in his mouth. After swallowing, he continued. "Another guitar? You hardly play the one you've got."

"An _electric_ guitar. And then I'll need an amp, and a strap, and better picks, and extra strings, and a stand. . . It's a lot of money," Marty sighed.

"Well," Dave sucked up the last of his soda, "if it's that important to you, you'll figure something out. You usually do." He grabbed up the trash from his meal and loaded it onto his tray. "Now I have to get back to work, and you have to get home. Before everyone realizes you're gone."

"Yeah, I doubt they'll notice," Marty said. "Dad's working on Biff's reports and Mom's working on tomorrow's headache. They won't have a clue. And Linda won't care."

Dave rose, looking down on the much shorter boy. "You don't want to go home yet, fine. But don't hang around here and get me in trouble, _baby_." He reached out to mess Marty's hair; the teen drew back and slapped his brother's hand away. Grinning, Dave headed back to the counter, tossing his trash into the garbage can along the way.

Neither McFly brother had noticed the tall, white-haired man sitting hunched in a nearby booth, listening quietly to their conversation.

Dr. Emmett L. Brown, residence 1646 John F. Kennedy Drive, frequented the Burger King, although he usually ate his meal earlier in the day. On that particular day he had slept late, after drawing up schematics well into the previous night (early morning, really), and as a result, he'd been off on his eating schedule. It was a common thing – sometimes he forgot to eat at all. But he had been hungry, and not having much to eat at home, he'd made the short trip next door and ordered his regular – a Whopper with no onions, an order of fries, and a Pepsi. Recently his order had expanded to include a plain cheeseburger to go, which he took home for his puppy Einstein.

The staff at Burger King knew him well and basically treated him as another regular customer, as opposed to the "local crackpot" reaction he got at a lot of other establishments in town. He was such a familiar face at the fast food restaurant now that he could sit his lanky frame in a booth and eat his meal without being unduly stared at, even when it was at an odd time of the day. Which was the main reason why Dave McFly hadn't noticed him.

Marty, sulking and grumpy, had just been oblivious.

So when the scientist came to stand before his booth just as Marty was about to rise, the teen gave a small yelp and dropped back down. Emmett gazed down at the young man with a troubled frown. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

"Well, you did. . . Doctor Brown," Marty said.

"You know who I am."

Marty shrugged and rolled his eyes at the same time. Emmett grunted softly. "Of course," he murmured. Then, "Is it all right if I sit down?"

Marty shrugged again. Emmett folded himself into the booth, placing his to-go bag on the table. "I wanted to talk to you about your conversation with your brother."

"You were spying on us?" Marty said, disbelieving.

"No – being in proximity to a conversation and hearing it in a normal listening function is not spying."

"What?"

Emmett smiled softly. "I overheard."

"Oh." Marty shook his head. "That was a funny way of saying it."

Emmett gestured up at the counter. "That _was_ your brother, correct? David?"

"Yeah, Dave. Um, I'm Marty. Marty McFly."

"Emmett Brown." The scientist held out his hand, and after a moment Marty shook it. Before the teen drew his hand back completely, Emmett gently twisted his wrist, looking at the bandaged palm, and then touched its mate, resting on the table top. "What happened here?"

Marty drew his hands back self-consciously, setting them in his lap. "I wiped out on my skateboard." He tipped his head at the board, propped up on the seat next to him. "No big deal."

"Ah." The scientist looked glum. "I'm worried that will affect your response to my planned request."

"What? Were you going to ask me something?" In spite of the weird conversation, Marty's curiosity was piqued.

"Well, yes. I'm afraid it may be an odd request, but it's something that I have been considering, and after hearing your conversation, I believe it's somewhat serendipitous that I was in nearby at the precise time to overhear your dilemma."

"Serend—"

"It means luck. Fortune." The older man waved a hand. "Fate."

Marty dipped his head, looking up with doubtful eyes. "Fate," he repeated, skeptical. "What could you have to do with my fate?"

Emmett placed his hands on the table top, intertwining his fingers. "I. . .create things. Inventions. I also repair things, offer scientific advice, and tutor a little. I had taught physics on campus, but I've 'retired' from that of late." It had been a combination of being asked to leave, and not fighting his exit, as his inventions and mobile "scientific services" had been quite enough to keep him busy. So busy, in fact, that the necessity of an assistant had recently become apparent.

Marty nodded. What Doctor Brown was telling him was pretty much common knowledge in the small town; it was why he had recognized the scientist on sight. "So. . . " the teen said, drawing out the word inquisitively.

"I've been thinking of bringing on an junior associate of sorts, to help assist me with my experiments and to attend to other random daily duties. I was going to put up flyers, possibly at the library or at HVCC or maybe even at the high school, but now I'm wondering. . . Would you be interested in the job? I would pay you, of course."

Marty straightened significantly at the word "pay." "What. . .would I do? I mean, _if _ I took the job," he added hurriedly.

Emmett's brown eyes twinkled. "Well, assist with my experiments, as I already said. Nothing dangerous, at least nothing planned to be dangerous, accidents do happen. . ." When Marty looked fairly alarmed by that comment, the older man quickly added, "Although maybe we'd wait on that."

"Okay, yeah," Marty agreed.

Doctor Brown went on. "I don't have much of a yard to mow, but I suppose the general area would need some maintenance, especially when the neighborhood youngsters get it into their heads to decorate my home with eggs or toilet paper or some such." Marty's alarmed look returned. The scientist rushed on. "Of course, that really only happens around Halloween or New Year's Eve."

"Oh. Well, what else?"

"I have a young dog that would need to be walked – "

"You have a dog?" Marty's face lit up. "What kind?"

"A sheepdog. A puppy, really." Emmett gestured to the to-go bag. "This is for him."

"You feed your dog Burger King?" Marty frowned. "Doctor Brown, that's not great for a dog. He should have something more healthy than that. Dog food, at least."

Emmett was frowning back. "I do purchase dog food for him when I go to the store, but I don't shop as much as I should. I find grocery shopping tedious and unpleasant. I'm more comfortable here." He waved around the restaurant. "The staff know me, as do most of the regular clientele."

Marty looked hard at the older man. "They're mean to you at the grocery store, aren't they?"

The scientist returned the stare with a surprised, and slightly pleased, laugh. "You're more observant than I realized." When Marty didn't answer, only looking surprised and pleased himself, Emmett continued. "That is another thing you could do for me. You could go to the store and obtain my groceries. I would give you a detailed list and the required amount of money to pay for the purchases. But wait. You don't drive yet, correct?" He pointed in the direction of Marty's skateboard.

"Well, no. I'm only fourteen. But you have a car, right? What I mean is, you could drive there, and sit in the car, and I could go inside and shop for you."

"I suppose we could do that," Emmett said slowly. "Until you get your license."

"Wait a minute, time out here Doc," Marty put his bandaged hands up in a "T" gesture. "I never even said I'd take the job. You already have me working for you for the next two years."

"Ah. I suppose that's technically correct, you haven't accepted the position." Emmett peaked his hands together in front of his face. "But you are interested, yes?"

Marty looked back at the town crackpot, assessing him quietly. Yes, the man was oddly tall and lanky, with wild white hair that seemed to have a life of its own. He was wearing an oddly patterned button-down shirt that appeared old and outdated, but it was clean, and not _terribly_ wrinkled. The man's hands were callused, but had been surprisingly careful and soft when they had touched Marty's injured hands. And his face, which _was_ wrinkled, also looked friendly and open and somehow, fiercely intelligent. Marty wasn't sure exactly how he knew that, but he did.

He found himself unaccountably liking Doctor Brown.

"Yeah, I am interested, Doctor Brown. I'd really like to work for you." Marty extended his right hand, and after a brief moment. Emmett reached to grasp it lightly. As the two shook a second time, Emmett grinned widely, and Marty soon found himself returning the grin.

"Now, you'll need to speak to your parents, and I assume they'd want to meet me as well, and once that is done we'll need to discuss your pay and sort out what your actual responsibilities would be, although I would rather you recover from your injuries before you start, and school will be starting soon, correct? So that will impact when you could work for me, evenings and weekends would work best, although I wouldn't presume to take up all of your time, you must have a social life with your peers, yes? Of course, you'll be required to keep up your studies, it would hardly be appropriate if your grades suffered, but I could help you with that. . . "

And as Emmett continued his excited rambling, Marty began to laugh.

_**BTTFBTTFBTTFBTTFBTTF**_

**Thursday, September 3rd, 1885**

**Hill Valley, California**

Marty had stopped his story, and there was a noticeable moment of silence, in which the young man could feel and hear his heart beat faster as his anxiety rose. _Is that what Doc remembers? If it's not, will he tell me his version? Or will he actually try to lie to me?_

Then the scientist smiled genuinely at his assistant-turned best friend, and reached out to clap him firmly on the shoulder. "That couldn't have been closer to my memory if you had been wearing my brain-wave analyzer device – and it _worked_ – and you had read my mind."

Marty let out a relieved sigh that was so expressive, the air of it actually caused his bangs to move. "That's great, Doc," he said weakly, suddenly exhausted.

"You'll be able to rest now?" Emmett said, concerned. "I know you're worried about the condition of the time machine, and rightly so, but you won't be any help to me in the state you're currently in. We need to be at our best, Marty."

It didn't take long for Marty to kick off his shoes and shed his 1955 "cowboy" clothes – replacing them with a regrettably oversized pair of Doc's long underwear – and ensconce himself in the bed in the living quarters of the old livery stable. He was asleep in minutes.

Emmett scooped up the cast-off outdated clothes, and stood in the middle of the room, trying to determine how best to dispose of the vestments. Absentmindedly, he searched through the pockets, and pulled out a photograph that showed a tombstone in a cemetery.

_His _tombstone. With an inscription that showed his date of death was only _four_ days away – and there was an epitaph from someone described as "his beloved" Clara!

But . . . he knew that. Didn't he? Of course he did! That was precisely why he'd sent Marty back to 1885. In terrible attire, yes, but the teen had made it back. Doc looked over at the bed, where Marty was snoring softly. He'd let the young man sleep a few hours, but then there was much to do.

So much, in fact, that he really didn't have time to ponder over why his recollection of how he had first met Marty differed remarkably from the teen's memories.

He thought about it anyway.


	2. A Near Miss

_**Author's Note:**_ This chapter is really a flashback, but the story will eventually work around to lining up with the ending of the first chapter (Emmett's thoughts on his memory of how he and Marty had met). The next chapter will continue the flashback.

This chapter does start with the McFly family, but Emmett soon makes an appearance; although the circumstances are not exactly what Doc had expected.

This section takes place in the Lone Pine universe/timeline. In the previous chapter, the 1982 section (Marty's memory) took place in the Twin Pines universe/timeline.

Please review if you enjoy this!

**-ck**

Disclaimer: I do not own _**Back to the Future**_, Doctor Emmett L. Brown, Marty McFly, or any of the McFly family members.

I am writing for fun and feedback, _**not**_ for profit.

* * *

_**THE RESULTING PRESENT OF RESPECTIVE PASTS**_

**_Chapter 2: A Near Miss_**

* * *

**Tuesday, July 20th, 1976**

**Hill Valley, California**

After seeing _The Bad News Bears_ for the second time (actually, the first time for the youngest member of the group), the not-quite-middle-aged mother had taken her children to Burger King for a late lunch. Both the matinee movie and the restaurant stop had been precipitated by the extreme heat of the day, as the two establishments had been air conditioned, and the movie had been blissfully dark, besides. Their home was air conditioned as well, but the prospect of a hot summer day and three bored young children had been taxing on the mother's nerves before her husband had even left for work.

_"I don't know what to do with them today," Lorraine McFly complained, as she sat at the table staring into the dregs of her coffee cup._

_George McFly, who had already rinsed his own coffee cup, turned from the sink and leaned against the counter. "Take them to the pool," he suggested._

_Lorraine immediately shook her head. "Marty's not a strong enough swimmer yet, and I don't trust Dave. He'll dare Marty to jump off the high dive or to go peek in the girl's changing room. Those two will be the death of me, if they don't kill each other first."_

_Instead of sympathizing with his wife, George chuckled quietly. Lorraine sent him a withering look, but it hardly dispelled his humor. "So they're a little rough and tumble. They're boys, Lorrie."_

_"I'm tired of that defense," Lorraine argued. "They're brothers, they should be closer."_

_George left the counter to come sit near his wife; he took one of her hands. "They are close, honey. Haven't you noticed how Marty looks up to Dave, and how Dave will defend him? So they fight. I've heard from Milton how he and Toby used to get into it when they were kids, and how they would both gang up on Joey. You must have seen that growing up."_

_Lorraine frowned. "Maybe so, but that doesn't mean Marty and Dave need to act that way. At least we don't have to worry about them ganging up on Linda. If anything, she eggs them on."_

_George gave his wife a skeptical look. "Linda? Please, she's a teddy bear."_

_"Maybe when you're around," Lorraine scoffed. "But trust me, she's an instigator. I think she likes to see her brothers get in trouble. Especially Dave."_

_"Well, I'll keep an eye out for that. Maybe I'll need to have a talk with her." George looked up at the kitchen clock, checked his watch, and then quickly rose from the table. "I've gotta go before I'm late." He reached for his briefcase, then grabbed his keys from the hook near the door. "I'll be home around three." One of the perks of teaching summer courses at the local community college was the shorter hours; another was the more lenient dress code. George was in a button down shirt with a tie, but he had foregone a suit jacket, in deference to the predicted high temperatures._

_"Around three, hmm?" Lorraine had risen from the table to join George at the door. She reached to straighten his tie, her hands lingering. He smiled down at her, that intent, enamored smile that _**_still_**_ made her melt over twenty years later, and then he bent to kiss her. She pulled him closer, her hands now gripping his shirt, in an attempt to lengthen the goodbye kiss. And it worked for a few moments, until the horn of a passing car startled them both and they broke apart, Lorraine's face flushed and George's shirt somewhat wrinkled. "Oh, George," Lorraine murmured, reaching out again, this time in an attempt to smooth the wrinkles._

_"Don't worry about it, Lorrie." He waved her off. "Just try to keep the kids alive until I get home, okay?"_

And later, when Lorraine walked out of the restaurant to the noise of a familiar yell and the unmistakable sound of a car's screeching brakes, all she could hear in her head was her husband's parting words, words that she was now unsure she'd be able to fulfill.

**ooOoo**

The two brothers, one with dark curly hair and the other with shaggy brown hair, dashed out of the Burger King well before their mother, who was still inside with their pokey sister. The brown-haired boy squinted in the sudden sunlight, and inhaled sharply. "Man, it's hot."

"Duh. Why'd you think mom would take you to a movie with all that swearing, a little baby like you? She just wanted to be someplace cool, and keep you from driving her nuts." Dave McFly gave his younger brother a playful shove.

"Don't call me a baby, jerk." Marty McFly pushed back. "I've been eight for over a month now."

Dave snorted derisively, then glanced back at the restaurant. Still not seeing their mother, he grinned mischievously. "Okay, you want to prove how you're not a baby? Go climb up on those trash cans by the fence, and see if you can peek into the windows on Brown's garage door."

Marty looked warily in the direction Dave indicated. There were a number of trash cans resting near a chain link fence that surrounded a large garage on the edge of the Burger King's side parking lot. The person who lived in the garage (lived in a _garage_!) was a loner of sorts that the area children had deemed a "mad scientist." And he was obviously at home, as the two boys could hear random clanking noises coming from the inside of the garage. Marty backed up a step, quickly shaking his head. "No, that's okay, Dave. I don't wanna bug him."

Dave shoved at his brother again, this time with more purpose. "C'mon. I'll be right there. I thought you were so old now. Don't be a chicken."

If there was one thing Marty hated more than being called a baby, it was being called a chicken. Not wanting to make his brother think less of him, or provide more ammunition for when the boys visited their friends or family ("You know big baby Marty wouldn't even go near Brown's place? He's afraid of the freak. What a chicken!"), Marty stomped purposefully over to the trash cans. He tried to climb the metal sides of one of the cans, but as he was small for his age, as well as just a _little_ uneasy, his efforts were largely unsuccessful. "Oh, fine, I'll give you a boost," Dave grumbled, now at Marty's side. Hunching down, he put his hands together in a stirrup fashion, nodding at Marty encouragingly. With a deep breath, the younger boy placed his right foot in Dave's hands –

And the older brother pushed up hard on Marty's foot, completely catching the smaller boy off guard. Marty soon found himself tossed purposefully on the top of the row of garbage cans. Several of the cans tipped over noisily, spilling their contents on the ground. Marty toppled down as well, to land in the smelly mess. Picking himself up and struggling to brush the slimy garbage from his shirt and shorts, Marty glared acidly at his brother. For a brief moment Dave attempted to look surprised, as if the whole predicament had been an accident. And then the older boy began to snicker uncontrollably.

"You big bully!" Marty hollered, diving forward in an attempt to tackle his brother. Unfortunately he slipped on a piece of rotten lettuce, going down on one knee. By the time he had regained his footing, Dave was making a beeline for the restaurant. Letting out an enraged yell, Marty flew after him.

Right into the path of a car turning into the restaurant's side parking lot.

**ooOoo**

Doctor Emmett L. Brown was working studiously on his newest invention, an automatic vacuum. The machine was moderately successful, although it had become obvious that it would need an alternate power source – the power cord, plugged into the wall outlet, had continually gotten in the way, causing the vacuum to crash against furniture or into discarded pieces of inoperable inventions. Emmett had extracted two 6-volt batteries out of a pair of portable camp lanterns, in the hopes that they would be enough to power the upright vacuum. He was dismantling the base of the machine when he heard the unwelcome – but not unfamiliar – sound of the garbage cans outside his fence being overturned. Setting his tools aside with a disheartened sigh, the scientist headed for the side door of his garage at a slow walk. Before he had even reached the door, he heard a child shouting angrily, and was able to make out the word "bully." As he unlocked and opened the door, the same voice was heard screaming out intelligibly. And when Emmett exited the garage, he heard the sound of a car slamming on its brakes. The scientist's slow walk was immediately replaced with an anxious run, and he burst through the unlocked gates, distractedly thanking the absentmindedness which often caused him to forget to latch the padlock.

**ooOoo**

Lorraine stood outside the door to the bathroom at Burger King, waiting for her daughter. She peered out the closest window into the parking lot, in the direction her sons had gone, hoping that they were waiting in the car. She knew it was improbable, that most likely the two were up to no good, but she could hope.

"Linda!" Lorraine pushed the door open partway, and spied her daughter's shoes under the door of one of the stalls. "Hurry up, please! Your brothers are already done!"

"Just a minute!" Linda called back.

Lorraine let the door close with an impatient huff. Moving closer to the exterior doors, she again looked out into the lot. She could see her car, but there was no sign of Dave or Marty. Typical.

There was a distant noise of rattling metal, something that sounded familiar although Lorraine couldn't quite place it. It was followed by a sound she knew very well – the infuriated yell of her youngest, almost definitely at his brother. Lorraine sucked in a breath, deciding that 10-year-old Linda could take care of herself.

Just as Lorraine exited the door of the restaurant, two things happened in quick succession: there was another scream from Marty, almost immediately followed by the sound of squealing brakes and skidding tires. She ran in the direction of the sound, her heart jack-hammering in her chest.

**ooOoo**

Marty had been blinded by rage, his only focus his brother's retreating back. He didn't know if Dave was heading for the safety of the restaurant, or just running to get a good distance between him and his younger brother, but Marty didn't care. He broke out into a full-blown sprint, racing across the parking lot.

He was running so fast he barely registered the car turning into the parking lot, and didn't fully see it until he was staring directly at the upside-down triangle shape of the hood ornament. Marty tried to throw himself out of the way, and fell backwards, landing hard on his tailbone. The shrieking of brakes filled his ears, and he closed his eyes, wincing in preparation of the blow.

He was still waiting five seconds later, when he was suddenly surrounded. Dave was at his side first, pulling him into a tight hug. The driver of the Pontiac was there next, looking cross and relieved at the same time, asking if he was all right and then promptly chastising him for running in a parking lot without looking for traffic. And then, for some unknown reason, that crazy Doctor Brown was there, looking inexplicably _scared_.

Then Marty's mom was dashing across the parking lot, her hair flying behind her. "Marty! Oh my God! Marty!" Lorraine knelt down by Dave, wrestling Marty from his grasp and enveloping the younger boy in a suffocating embrace. Linda trailed behind her mother, an almost nauseous expression on her face. Marty could just barely hear his mother apologizing to the driver of the car that had almost hit him, and the driver's response was also muffled, although his tone was somewhat less annoyed than it had been.

"Mom. I'm okay," Marty mumbled into his mother's chest, where his face was currently pressed. "_Mom_."

The driver of the Pontiac had gotten back in his car, and was now backing it up and driving very slowly around the family of four. Lorraine finally loosened her embrace, but ran trembling hands over her son's small frame, looking for hidden injuries. "You're sure you're all right?"

A strange voice spoke up. "The car didn't hit him, Mrs. McFly, but he did take a hard fall. He may be quite sore tomorrow."

Marty looked up, and saw the voice belonged to Doctor Brown. He scrambled back a bit, bumping into Dave, who was still crouched down next to him. "Dave, look!" he whispered.

But Dave was more fascinated by the fact that Doctor Brown actually seemed to know their mother. He shushed his brother, and watched the interaction between his mother and the scientist with interest.

Lorraine had stood, and then suddenly seeming to realize that both of her sons were still on the ground, she quickly helped Marty up and gestured for Dave to stand as well. Drawing Marty around in front of her, Lorraine smiled apologetically at the older man. "Doctor Brown, I'm sorry that my boys disturbed you."

"Oh, no, it's fine, I could use a little change in my routine. I get overly involved in my work, and often fail to have much interaction with the public. Of course, I'd rather it not be a situation so fraught with possible tragedy." The man bent closer to Marty. "Young Marty, you were very nearly hurt badly. I would – I'm sure your mother would have been terribly upset." He reached out to touch Marty's shoulder.

Marty flinched at the touch, pressing back against his mother. Doctor Brown pulled back his hand, his face contorting in a frown of surprised confusion. Lorraine, looking down at her youngest son, failed to see the brief change on Doctor Brown's face. "He's right," she was saying. "If something happened to you – to any of you –" here Lorraine turned her gaze on her other two children "– I don't know what I'd do."

When Lorraine looked up again, the scientist was regarding her with a distant expression. "Well. I'm sure you'll want to get your children home and out of this heat. I'm very glad your son was not seriously injured." He nodded jerkily, then turned to quickly stride back to his garage/home.

Dave pulled at his mother's arm. "Mom, you know that . . ."

". . .Weirdo," Marty supplied, his voice loud enough to carry. And he saw, by the way Doctor Brown paused briefly and dropped his head, that he had heard the invective. Then the older man entered his garage, closing the door firmly behind him.

Lorraine gently swatted her youngest on the shoulder. "Marty! I don't like that! The man was just worried that you were injured."

"He is weird, Mom," Linda agreed. "I mean, why would he care about Marty anyway?"

"And how does he know you?" Dave asked. "He even knew Marty's name!"

Lorraine shook her head tightly. "We're not going to stand around in this parking lot and talk about it. Let's go home. Your father should be home by now, and I have to try and explain to him about how his youngest son was almost hit by a car."

**ooOoo**

After he was sure the family had left the restaurant, Emmett came back outside with a broom and dustpan, and began to sweep up the garbage that had spilled from the trashcans outside his fence. As he was about to dump the last dustpan-full, he noticed an unusually bright item mixed in with the debris. Carefully pulling it out, he held it up.

It was a silver guitar pick, with a lips and tongue motif on one side, and the name "Mick Jagger" on the reverse. Emmett held it in his hand for a few moments, thinking.

He wasn't positive, but he had a fairly good idea whose guitar pick he was holding. He smiled softly to himself.

Maybe the near-accident wasn't the precise time he was supposed to establish his friendship with Marty McFly. It certainly hadn't seemed like the boy was at all interested in getting to know the scientist; in fact, he'd been stand-offish and rude. The reaction had shaken Emmett – he knew, from the time he'd spent with Marty in 1955, that the two of them, despite their age differences and disparate backgrounds, were fast friends. Marty had been vague in the description of their relationship ("I help you with stuff") and hadn't divulged the exact events of their first meeting – both by Emmett's own direction, as he hadn't wanted to know specific details of his future. And the scientist was still convinced that he had made the right choice about that (although there were times it had been difficult to enforce that restraint from the teenager). But now he was left with the question of exactly _when_ was the right time to approach Marty. Today had admittedly gone poorly. But the lost (and now found) guitar pick gave him another chance.

He hoped he wouldn't get shot down again.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	3. A Loss and a Lecture

_**Author's Note:**_ This is continuing the 1976 "flashback."

As always, I appreciate any reviews!

**-ck**

Disclaimer: I do not own _**Back to the Future**_, Doctor Emmett L. Brown, Marty McFly, or any of the McFly family members (or their friends or enemies).

I am writing for fun and feedback, _**not**_ for profit.

* * *

_**THE RESULTING PRESENT OF RESPECTIVE PASTS**_

**_Chapter 3: A Loss and a Lecture_**

* * *

**Tuesday, July 20th, 1976 _ (still)_**

**Hill Valley, California**

When Lorraine and her children arrived at the house in Lyon Estates, George McFly's car was indeed there. Lorraine sent Dave and Marty to their rooms, then went to locate her husband. Hearing the noise of the electric typewriter, she quickly found him in the study, typing rapidly with an intense look on his face. He looked up happily as she entered, pausing in his typing. But the smile didn't last long, once he took in her frustrated expression.

"What did the boys do now?"

**ooOoo**

Marty flopped onto his bed, but was only prone for a few moments before his nose was assailed with the garbage smell (which Linda had complained about all the way home, apparently no longer concerned about her brother's close call with the car). Quickly shedding the soiled clothes and throwing them into his hamper, Marty began to dig around in his dresser for a fresh outfit. He had just pulled a shirt over his head when he remembered his guitar pick. Going again to the hamper, he grabbed the shorts back out and dug into the right pocket –

And found nothing. He immediately checked the other pocket. No guitar pick. Scared now, he started tossing clothes aside, hoping the pick had fallen out when he'd tossed his shorts in the hamper.

There was a brief knock on the door, and then Dave sauntered in. He looked at Marty, kneeling on the floor in just a shirt and underwear and throwing clothes out of his hamper, and the older brother began to giggle. "What are you _doing_? Did you hit your head when you fell in the parking lot?"

Marty looked up, not even caring that not only had his brother barged in, but that he was laughing at him. His only concern was the lost souvenir. "I can't find my guitar pick," he said morosely. "Y'know, the one Uncle Toby got me from the Stones concert last year? He said Mick threw it _right _to him!"

Dave snorted. "Yeah, right. He probably bought it at a souvenir stand. Don't be so gullible."

"I don't care! I lost it! I had it at the movie, and now I can't find it!" Marty leaned back, holding the clothes from his hamper against his bare legs. "Dave, I think it fell out when I fell at Burger King."

Dave sat on the edge of Marty's bed. "I didn't see it. We were all there after the car almost hit you, and I didn't see it on the ground." Then his face twisted into an uncomfortable frown. "Unless it fell out when you fell off of the garbage cans."

"When you threw me on the garbage cans!"

Dave shrugged lightly. "Yeah. Then."

Marty's face fell, and he felt his throat constrict. "It's gone, then."

"Martin! David! Come out here!"

The brothers turned at their father's call. "Damn," Dave muttered. "Full names. We're in trouble."

"At least we didn't get the middle names," Marty pointed out. But it was barely a second later when Lorraine's voice rang out sharply.

"Martin _Seamus!_ David _Arthur!_ On the double!"

Both boys scrambled up and went for the door. Marty made it first, but Dave grabbed him and bodily pulled him back. "Put some pants on!" he hissed, then pushed past the younger boy and out of the room.

When Marty had finally pulled on a pair of not-quite-clean (but at least not smelly) shorts and made it out of his room, he found that his parents and Dave were seated at the dining room table. Walking slowly over to join them, he pulled out his usual chair and sat down warily. Dave glanced at him, then quickly looked away.

George, seated at the head of the table, looked sternly at his sons. "Your mother told me what happened," he said. "Well, what she saw. I want to know how it happened. Why you two were horsing around in a parking lot, of all places." He addressed the older boy. "Dave, you're the big brother – you're supposed to be watching over Marty, not tormenting him."

"I wasn't – "

"We were just goofing off," Marty said.

"In a _parking lot!_" Lorraine repeated.

Dave and Marty both stared at the table top. George sighed loudly, then again spoke to Dave. "Tell me what you were doing."

Dave never lifted his head. "Marty and I got done eating and Linda was being slow. So we went outside, 'cause we were bored. And we were just goofing off, like Marty said, and he didn't see the car, and – "

"_David!_" Lorraine's hand slammed down on the table, making both boys jump. "You are already in trouble! Don't make it worse by lying!"

Dave finally looked up, his face slightly red. "Okay! Fine! I dared Marty to climb the garbage cans by Doctor Brown's fence, to see if he could look in the windows on the garage door."

George turned to his younger son. "Did you really want to do that, Marty? Disturb some man who has done nothing to you?"

"He's a weirdo," Marty muttered to the table top.

"Marty, there is no basis – no proof – that Doctor Brown is some kind of mad scientist. Those stories you hear in school are just stories." George shook his head angrily. "He is a normal, nice man. He may be a bit eccentric, but he is not a 'weirdo,' and I did not think we had raised you kids to think of people in those terms."

"We're getting off the track," Lorraine said. "Marty, you smelled like you climbed _into_ the garbage cans. How did that happen?"

"He fell," Dave said, at the same time that Marty said, "Dave threw me in!"

Dave turned to glare at his brother. "Well, you did!" Marty yelled. "And I lost my guitar pick because of you!"

"Guitar pick?" George repeated.

"I don't even know why you care so much!" Dave was yelling back at Marty. "You don't even play guitar!"

"Well, now I never will, because I don't have a guitar pick!"

"Boys!" Lorraine shouted. When the brothers dropped into silence, she shot a hard look across the table to her husband. "This is your fault, you know," she accused him.

George leaned back, pressing a hand against his chest. "Mine?"

"Yes, yours! You're always preaching to the boys about how they should never back down from a bully or a fight, that they shouldn't be afraid to take risks, and this is what happens! It's the living room rug all over again!"

"That was an accident!" Marty said loudly. Okay, sure, he had been "experimenting" with the lighter he'd found in the catch-all drawer, but setting the carpet on fire last month really _had _been an accident. Although he probably wouldn't have even been playing with the lighter if Doug Needles hadn't teased him about his inability to start a kindling fire at Boy Scouts camp. "You're such a dope, you probably couldn't even get a fire started with a cigarette lighter!" Needles had laughed, when Marty's fourth match had refused to ignite the teepee-style fire lay. And the accompanying laughter from several other boys had made Marty's face grow warm and his hands curl into fists. Bullies. He _hated_ bullies.

"What do you expect me to tell them?" George was asking Lorraine, looking intently at her. "If I hadn't finally stood up to Biff. . . I don't even want to think about what could've happened to –"

"George!" Lorraine interjected. She tipped her head at the two boys, both who were now watching in rapt attention, Marty with wide eyes and Dave with a furrowed brow. "This is not the right time to talk about that! And I don't want our history to impact how our boys behave!"

George nodded, taking a deep breath, and turned back to Dave and Marty. "You shouldn't let yourself be goaded into doing something because of what someone says, or how they treat you." He looked at Marty. "You understand that, don't you? If someone teases you or calls you names, that's no reason to do something you think is wrong. You use your words, or you ignore them, or you tell an adult. And if Dave dares you to do something stupid and you don't want to do it, don't do it!" George regarded both boys. "You should stand up for yourselves, but you can do that without fighting."

Marty looked back sulkily. The direction was all well and good, until Dave pushed his buttons by calling him a baby or a chicken. Or until the other kids at school ganged up on him, often teasing him about his short stature or his good grades (getting called "teacher's pet" was almost as bad as getting called a chicken). Those were the times when fighting seemed to be the only choice, the only way he could show the world that he was brave and tough and definitely not a scaredy-cat baby.

"But you hit Biff, because he was going to hurt Mom," Dave said, in a surprisingly soft voice.

Both George and Lorraine looked back in silent shock. Lorraine was the one who spoke first, her voice also almost a whisper. "How did you know that?" she asked the thirteen-year-old.

Dave shrugged. "Grandpa Arthur."

Lorraine looked sharply at her husband. "You told your father."

George spread his hands out in guilty supplication. "I was proud of it. And all the kids at school knew, so he eventually would've heard through the grapevine. Are you going to tell me your parents didn't know?"

"The kids at school knew you hit him. They didn't all know why."

"But what about your parents? Did _they_ know why?"

"I didn't talk about things like that with my parents. Especially not my father. If he knew what had happened with Bi-" Lorraine stopped herself, then started over. "If he knew what had happened, he would've done more than let his fists do the talking."

Marty perked up, his eyes flicking between his mother and father. He knew Biff Tannen. The man had an auto detailing garage and he also made house calls – he'd been by the house a few times to wax George's '73 Datsun. He was a tall, muscular man who reminded Marty of Bluto in the _Popeye_ cartoons, only without the dark hair and beard. Marty had caught the man staring at him once when he'd been out in the driveway, goofing on his buddy Paul's skateboard. When Marty and Paul had stared back, Biff had gone back to his waxing, muttering something unintelligible under his breath.

Once again George and Lorraine noticed the two pair of young eyes studying them. Lorraine shook her head, and reached out to touch Dave on the shoulder. "That information is private to this family, David," she said seriously. "That is not something I want repeated, and I definitely do not want you to mention it to Biff, or to his family. It happened a long time ago, and Biff is not the same person he was then." She turned to Marty. "And Marty, it is none of your business. You're too young. Dave shouldn't even know about it." She shook her head in aggravation. "I'll need to talk to Arthur."

Marty pushed back on his chair, getting up angrily. "Everybody always tells me I'm too young! I hate being the baby!" He slammed his chair into the table, and ran to his room.

"That's what I'm talking about!" Lorraine said, gesturing in the direction Marty had gone. "He's such a hothead, just like Joey! One of these days it's going to get him hurt, or in big trouble!"

George lowered his head into his hands. "Well, this talk went well."

Dave looked between his parents. "Um, can I go?"

George waved a weak hand at his older son. "Go. We'll talk about a punishment later."

Dave took off from the table before either parent could change their mind, also dashing back to his room. He didn't bother going to Marty's room, knowing that it would take his younger brother a while to calm down. And when the family reconvened at the dining room table for dinner two hours later, Marty was conspicuously missing.

The meal progressed with little mention of Marty's absence. Neither older sibling asked about their younger brother, and neither was surprised when Lorraine carried a plate containing pork roast, potatoes, and carrots to Marty's room. Although Linda did mutter something about Marty being Lorraine's "favorite," and how if they ate all of the pudding dessert while he was hiding in his room, it was the idiot's own fault.

"Lindy-Hop, you know I don't like that word," George said, although after the admonition, the man smiled softly at his daughter.

Dave snickered. "Talk about favorites," he whispered, jabbing his sister.

An extra dish of the pudding was saved for Marty, but placed in the refrigerator. And later in the evening, when Linda and her parents were cuddled on the couch watching the ABC sit-coms, Dave smuggled the dish of dessert out of the fridge, grabbed a spoon, and tip-toed over to Marty's room.

"Hey, squirt, let me in," he whispered, knocking lightly.

It took a few moments before the door opened marginally. Marty glowered out, but his expression cleared when he saw the peace offering. Taking the dish and spoon out of Dave's hands, Marty went to sit on his bed, and began shoveling the pudding into his mouth. Dave watched him in slight disgust. "You're welcome," he muttered.

"Yeah, thanks, I guess." Marty made short work of the dessert, and then sat with the empty dish, looking up curiously at his brother. "Did you get in trouble after I left?"

"Nah. They got kind of side-tracked by the whole Biff thing." Dave sat on the bed next to Marty. "And don't ask me what happened. You wouldn't understand anyway. You are too young. I'm not being mean," he quickly added, when Marty's face darkened. "You really wouldn't get it."

Marty's glare receded, although he still looked fairly depressed. Dave stood up, looked out the window at the darkening sky, and said thoughtfully, "Do you think we could get our bikes out of the garage without Mom and Dad hearing us?"

"Probably. If we use the side door." Marty chewed his lip. "But how would we get past them? They're all watching TV."

Dave grinned. "You've never sneaked out of your window?"

"So what if I have? And why? What are you talking about?"

Dave shrugged. "Just thought maybe you wanted to get your guitar pick back."

**ooOoo**

By the time the boys had biked to Burger King, it was almost dark out. They both had lights on their bikes, but Marty was glad when they finally got to the restaurant, as he rarely rode this far in the dark. They dropped their bikes on the far side of the lot near the garbage cans, then looked at the row of metal receptacles. "Shoulda brought gloves," Dave said distractedly.

"They all got cleaned up," Marty gestured at the upright cans, "and I can't really see anything on the ground." The lights from the restaurant and parking lot didn't adequately light the area around the base of the garbage cans. "We shoulda brought a flashlight, too."

"Sorry, I've never done this before," Dave shot back. "You want to go back home?"

"No!" Marty went to a can on the end of the row, closest to the side door of Doctor Brown's garage. "I guess we should just start, huh?" He lifted the lid off the can and the brothers peered inside, both grimacing at the smell. "Oh, this is bad," Marty moaned.

A sudden light appeared from the nearby garage as the side door opened, and a tired voice called out, "Someone already knocked those cans over once today. These pranks are getting old."

Both boys stood up rapidly, backing away from the can. Marty dropped the lid in his haste, and it hit the pavement, rattling loudly.

Emmett Brown came out farther from his doorway, opening the fence so that he could walk out near the garbage cans. He squinted at the brothers. "Oh, it's you two. The McFly boys." His voice, which had initially sounded defeated, now held a pleased tone. "Can I help you with something?"

Dave took a step forward. "My brother lost something, when we knocked your cans over earlier, and we're looking for it." Marty grabbed Dave's arm, pulling him back. "Dave, no!" he whispered.

Dave shook off Marty's grasp. "It was a guitar pick. Is it okay if we look for it?"

"I don't believe that's necessary," Emmett said, smiling. Both Dave and Marty were surprised to see how the smile changed the scientist's appearance, making the man look less threatening and more approachable, even with the wild hair and unusual clothes (a garish dressing gown and plaid slacks of completely uncomplimentary colors).

Marty stepped near Dave, looking up hopefully at the tall man. "Doctor Brown?"

The man reached into his pocket, and pulled out the small silver piece. "Rolling Stones? Mick Jagger?"

Marty bounded forward, completely forgetting his earlier fear. "Wow! I can't believe it!" He plucked the guitar pick out of the scientist's hand. "Thank you so much!" In a completely spontaneous moment, Marty wrapped his arms around the man's waist in a grateful hug.

Just as Emmett had been confused by Marty's earlier rebuke, he was now confused by the sudden adoration. But not having had a lot of direct interaction with young children, he supposed the mood swings were typical. Either way, he patted Marty lightly on the head and chuckled, pleased. "It was no problem, young Marty. I'm glad I was able to locate your possession."

Marty released the man, backing up a step. "Why do you call me that? I already know I'm young. Just call me Marty."

Emmett laughed. As he could hardly tell Marty the reason he had defined him as "young Marty," he came up with another plausible reason. "I'm sorry, I don't have much experience talking to children your age. Just 'Marty' it shall be, then." He looked at the older brother. "And you shall be just David."

"Dave," the other boy corrected. "How do you know our names? Is it because you know our mom?"

"That's correct," Emmett confirmed. "I've been acquainted with her since she was a teenager. She. . .was friends with a relative of mine who was visiting for a short time." He paused, wondering if he should continue, then gave a short shake of his head. "But that is something you can talk to your parents about."

Dave nodded; Marty was busy inspecting the recovered guitar pick. During the brief silence, Emmett looked at the discarded bikes, then up at the dark sky. "Were you two planning on riding home in the dark?" he asked.

"We've got lights on our bikes," Dave said. Marty didn't respond, but he looked up from the guitar pick, and his expression was slightly uneasy.

"If you'd like, I could give you a lift home," the scientist offered. "I don't know if I could fit both of your bikes in my car, as I have quite a collection of items in the trunk, but I could put your bikes in my garage for safekeeping, and your parents could pick them up tomorrow."

"No, that's okay," Dave said quickly, and at the same time, Marty said, "You don't have to tell our parents!"

Emmett looked steadily at the two boys. "Your parents don't know you came out here, do they?" He shook his head with a heavenward gaze. "Of course not. They wouldn't have let you come out here alone in the dark."

Neither boy answered. Dave shuffled his feet. Marty, shoving the guitar pick into his pocket, sighed deeply. Emmett immediately took pity on them, and not only because of his fondness for Marty. The two boys looked truly miserable.

"Well, how about this? I'll put your bikes in my garage, run you home, and you can walk back tomorrow to retrieve them." He thought for a moment, and then added, "But only if you promise to not sneak out again. Otherwise I will have no choice but to inform your parents about this discretion." Emmett attempted a severe look. "Do you understand?"

The two brothers instantly swore they would never sneak out again, both holding up their right hands in the Boy Scout salute. Again smiling, Emmett waved the boys inside the fence surrounding his garage, and then helped them wheel their bikes inside the side door. Both boys paused inside the garage, looking around in awe at the organized mess of books, blueprints, mechanical contraptions, and surprisingly normal furniture. Marty gravitated toward the jukebox, touching the classic machine with reverence.

"You like music," Emmett said, more of a statement than a question.

"Yes, sir," Marty answered softly. "This is so cool!"

Emmett joined Marty at the jukebox, grinning widely at how he had gone from "weirdo" to "sir" in the space of a few hours. "I believe I may have some selections from the Rolling Stones in here," he said, tapping the glass front of the machine.

Marty's grin rivaled Emmett's. "Really?"

But before Marty could explore the selections on the jukebox, Dave was grabbing his arm. "Hey, Marty, come on. We gotta get home before everyone realizes we're gone."

Emmett retrieved his keys, locked his garage, and directed the boys to his car, parked in the side lot of the restaurant. The three piled into the '69 Nova (the Packard had been retired seven years prior), and Emmett drove unerringly to Lyon Estates without asking for directions.

Neither boy thought to ask how the scientist knew the exact way to their house.

**ooOoo**

Once driving past the lion structures on the stone "gates" that flanked the entrance to the Lyon Estates neighborhood, Emmett came to the realization that he shouldn't really know the _exact_ route to the McFly house. It wouldn't help him shed the "crackpot mad scientist" reputation if it was determined he'd essentially been stalking the McFlys.

_Well, stalking one member, at least. _

"Which house is yours, boys?" he called to the brothers.

Dave pointed ahead. "The light brown one – well, they all look the same in the dark, I guess. It's the one with those big power pole things behind it."

As Emmett drew close to the house, the three could see most of the lights were on inside, the porch light was on, the garage was open, and George was standing in the driveway talking to a neighbor. From the way George was gesturing wildly with his arms, his agitation was obvious. "Oh, crap," Marty murmured.

"Yeah, exactly," Dave agreed. "They know."

"Ah." Emmett sighed. "Well, we tried." He slowed the Nova down, and as he eased it into the driveway, Marty's gaze was suddenly locked with his father's. George waved the neighbor off – "Thanks, Howard, here they are!"– and came quickly to the side of the car, his jaw dropping slightly as he got a closer look at the driver. "Doctor Brown?"

Lorraine came running out of the house, the screen door slamming behind her. "Is that them?"

Emmett had exited the car, and was pulling the seat forward so that Dave and Marty could creep out of the back. "Uh, yeah, hon," George said, somewhat mystified. "Doctor Brown brought them home."

Lorraine had reached the car, and once the brothers were outside in the driveway, she took a hand and gripped each boy on a shoulder. "Inside the house _now_," she said in a low growl, propelling them both forward.

Dave took the hint and went directly to the door, his head hanging. Marty pulled away from his mother, turning back to Emmett. Looking up at the scientist, he smiled shyly. "Thanks for driving us home, Doctor Brown, and thanks a lot for finding my guitar pick." He dropped his gaze, and then said in a small voice, "I'm sorry we knocked over your garbage cans."

Emmett wanted to hug the boy again, but aware of how that would look, especially considering how Marty was in trouble with his parents, the older man restrained himself. Instead he cleared his throat so that Marty would look up, and then he nodded approvingly at the boy.

"I appreciate you apologizing. Now I think you'd better listen to your mother and go inside."

Marty lowered his head again, and with a long sigh, he trudged up to the house. The three adults were left in the driveway, looking awkwardly at each other.

George spoke first. "Doctor Brown, thank you for driving Dave and Marty home."

"Please, call me Emmett. We're all adults; peers, really."

Lorraine smiled gently. "Emmett. And yes, thank you so much."

"Oh, not a problem, not a problem," Emmett mumbled, wondering when the McFlys would get around to asking the when, how, and why.

For the moment though, that was bypassed by more small talk. George was shaking his head, and he cast out an apologetic hand. "Doc – Emmett, I'm sorry about this – it looks like our boys got you out of bed."

Emmett was suddenly aware of his unusual clothing, as he hadn't thought to change out of the dressing gown. He was glad that he at least was wearing shoes, and not slippers – he had shoved his feet into tattered loafers when he'd gone to see who was out by his garbage cans. He moved his feet restlessly, and tightened his dressing gown around his faded cotton undershirt. "Oh, not exactly. I was up. To be honest, I was still a tad shook up by what happened this afternoon, with Marty almost being injured, and I wasn't quite relaxed enough to turn in for the night."

George's eyes narrowed a bit at the comment, but Lorraine seemed completely charmed. She reached out a hand, resting it on the scientist's arm. "You're such a kind man. I don't know why other people don't see that. Even when I was young, I never thought of you as, as – well, as – "

"An undesirable? A crazy inventor? A mad scientist? A crackpot? Or to use Marty's term, a 'weirdo'?"

Both Lorraine and George looked uncomfortable, but Emmett just smiled. "Oh, I've heard them all, and worse. The names don't affect me that much – they're just words, after all. The high jinks and misbehaviors of the area youngsters do get a bit tiresome, but I've noticed that people tend to fear or make fun of the unknown. And as I'm a bit of a loner, that is somewhat my fault."

"But don't you keep to yourself because of how people treat you?" George asked. "It's a circular pattern – your clandestine behavior causes people to guess and gossip about you, so you keep to yourself to avoid the looks and the whispers and the name-calling, and that just creates more mystery and curiosity."

Emmett stared at the younger man for a moment, then shook his head with a rueful chuckle. "Well, damn."

And then the three all began to laugh.

Emmett was still chuckling softly as he made his way back to his car. George and Lorraine stood nearby as the older man entered the Nova, and then leaned out his window. "Feel free to stop by any time tomorrow with the boys to pick up their bikes," he said.

George frowned, huffing lightly. "I'm pretty sure the boys won't be going anywhere tomorrow, or for at least the next week, if not two."

Emmett looked a little concerned at the thought of his involvement in Marty's apparent grounding. "I. . .wouldn't be too hard on them. They're boys; they're apt to get into some mischief."

Lorraine's mouth tightened into a thin line at another version of the "they're just boys" excuse. "They're our children, Doctor Brown, and we will discipline them as we see fit."

"Of course, of course, I'm sorry, I didn't mean. . . " Emmett trailed off, now looking a bit more concerned. "Although, you know, Marty _did_ apologize. I don't know if I've ever had a child apologize to me for some careless prank – at least not without a parent directing them to do so."

"Well, he might as well have had us telling him to apologize," Lorraine said. "He made sure to do it in front of us, trying to score some points, I'm sure."

George touched his wife's shoulder. "Dave didn't apologize, Lor," he said quietly.

Emmett drove off soon after, with a wave and a parting "Good night!" And it wasn't long after that, as George and Lorraine were walking toward the door, arms around each other's shoulders, that questions occurred to both of them. Each turned to the other, speaking at the same time.

George: "What were the boys doing at Emmett's place this time of night?"

Lorraine: "Why did he just drive them home instead of calling us?"

With a tired sigh, George said, "Is it too late to have another talk at the dining room table?"

As it was, both parents decided it was too late for another family talk. Finding both Dave and Marty in Dave's room (along with Linda, who groused mightily as she was shooed off to bed), George and Lorraine settled for just telling the boys, point-blank, that they were both grounded for two weeks. Neither brother disputed the punishment, only nodding in near synchronization. "And Marty, you get to bed, too," Lorraine said firmly, holding the door open and gesturing with her head. "Out."

Marty rose obediently and walked rapidly from Dave's room, not looking back. He was in his room and into his bed in less than a minute, not wanting to further raise his parents' ire. He was so quick to climb between the sheets in his bed that he neglected to change out of his clothes, and only kicked off his sneakers onto the floor as an afterthought.

Curling up on his side, he dug the recovered guitar pick out of his pocket, clenching it in his hand. He closed his eyes and began to hum quietly, soft musical sounds that eventually became whispered words.

_"If I could stick my pen in my heart_

_And spill it all over the stage, _

_Would it satisfy you? Would it slide on by you? _

_Would you think the boy is strange? Ain't he stra-a-ange?"_

When he finally fell asleep, the hand grasping the guitar pick was pressed against his chest. And he was smiling as he dreamt about an image of . . . himself . . . some unknown years older, wearing a suit jacket and adeptly playing a cherry-red electric guitar.

_**TO BE CONTINUED**_

* * *

_**A/N: **_The song Marty sings to himself is "It's Only Rock 'n Roll (But I Like It)," 1974, by The Rolling Stones (written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards).

**-ck**


	4. The Fifth Wheel Gets Balanced

_**THE RESULTING PRESENT OF RESPECTIVE PASTS**_

**_Chapter 4: The Fifth Wheel Gets Balanced_**

* * *

**Wednesday, July 21st, 1976**

**10:21 AM**

**Hill Valley, California**

Not wanting to take advantage of Emmett's offer to stop by "anytime," Lorraine made sure she waited until later in the morning, long enough past breakfast and far enough before lunch, before she and the children drove the short distance to the large garage next to the Burger King. Even though Marty and Dave were technically grounded, Lorraine had had no choice but to bring them along, as George was at his teaching job. The two adults had discussed the possibility of one of them, sans kids, picking up the bikes later in the afternoon, once George was home from work. That option had been dismissed, though, as Lorraine had committed to chaperoning Linda's Girl Scout troop to the roller rink in Grass Valley. The mother and daughter would be leaving not long after George returned from work, and then he would be in the same position of needing to take the boys with him to retrieve their bikes. The parents had eventually agreed that getting the chore done earlier was best, so that meant Lorraine was now guiding the family station wagon into the parking area closest to Doctor Brown's garage/home.

The man himself peeked out of his door before Lorraine had even stepped out of the car. He was up near the fence and unlocking the padlock as the mother and three children were exiting the wagon. "Jeez, what was he doing, waiting at the window watching for us?" Linda muttered. Dave laughed appreciably, but Marty looked at the two of them with a fierce glare. "Knock it off!" he demanded. "Leave him alone!"

"Stop it!" Lorraine whispered. "All three of you behave, or Dave and Marty, I'm adding another week on your punishment, and Linda, we won't be going anywhere tonight." All three children immediately quieted, and followed their mother mutely as she approached the scientist.

"Emmett," Lorraine greeted the man as she neared the fence, "good morning." She took in the scientist's appearance, so different from the night before – he was wearing a loose fitting checkered button-down shirt, pressed dress slacks, and shiny black loafers. _Dressed to impress, _she thought idly. "I hope we're not interrupting anything."

The man shook his head with a wry chuckle. "No, no, I needed a break. It's already getting hot in there and my air conditioner isn't working too well." He looked at the children, glancing past Dave and Linda and then landing his gaze on Marty. "It's good to see you all again," he said.

Marty was staring back, his face screwed up in a pensive frown. "I thought you were like a scientist, or that you built things."

Emmett looked up at Lorraine, and then back at her youngest. "I am a scientist, yes, and I do have several projects that I am currently working on that you could technically describe as inventions."

"Then shouldn't you be smart enough to fix your air conditioner?"

"Marty!" Lorraine said, mildly embarrassed at the boy's boldness, while at the same time a bit proud that he'd asked a logical question. "Don't be rude!"

But Emmett was laughing. "That's a very good point, Marty. I guess I've been so busy and involved with my current work that it never occurred to me to fix my air conditioner." He wagged a finger in Marty's direction. "Never be afraid to ask questions."

Lorraine looked down at Marty, ready to counter Emmett's advice with a practical warning, and saw that the boy was essentially preening with pride, beaming back at the scientist. And she found herself momentarily lost in the shared moment.

Lorraine was confident that her children were happy, and she hoped that she and George were raising them to be productive, successful individuals who would make their own respective marks on the world – whatever size their worlds eventually became. But she had become increasingly worried about Marty, who seemed to be floundering for a foothold.

David was the first born, the one who got to experience everything first, the one who was adored by both of his grandfathers – and often a point of jealousy for Marty. Dave got to sit in the front seat of the car. Dave got to stay up later. Dave got a larger allowance. Dave could walk to the pool by himself.

Linda was the only girl. She received a good share of Lorraine's attention, because there were just some things George couldn't do as well (even though the man cherished his daughter and found it incredibly hard to impose any kind of punishment on her). Lorraine would take Linda shopping for clothes, had taught her how to paint her nails, and had listened sympathetically – and held her tongue – when Linda had bemoaned that her first crush was not interested in her (as Linda was only ten, the crush was more of a puppy-dog infatuation, and a few days later the girl was all about roller skating and had basically forgotten about the boy). Lorraine knew that Linda was spoiled and, as a result, a bit sarcastic and rude, but she could also be incredibly sweet and forgiving and helpful.

But Marty. . . Being the youngest, instead of making Marty favored and revered, had actually made the boy somewhat of a fifth wheel. Whenever he wanted to do something he preferred, like go to the park with his friend Paul from Scouts, or watch his favorite television program, or ride the Tilt-a-Whirl at the Solstice Carnival, something would always preclude his desires. There would be a planned family function (usually an event concerning Dave or Linda) that prevented Marty from having time to go to the park. Dave would get to the television first, declare dibs, and would often be backed up by Linda (and in those cases, Marty almost always lost). And at the Solstice Carnival, Marty would be an inch or so too short to go on the same rides as his friends. His diminutive size and "in the way" treatment had caused the young boy to get a rather large chip on his shoulder, and about the only person in the family who could get the true inner Marty to shine through was Sylvia, George's mother. But even so, Marty had to share Sylvia with Dave and Linda . . . and the last time George's parents had visited (on Independence Day), it had been a week after the infamous "living room rug fire." After learning of the close call, a horrified Sylvia had criticized Marty's carelessness so much that the boy had fled to his room in tears, missing most of the visit.

Now here was this odd, albeit presumably harmless man, who with a direct, encouraging statement, had caused her youngest son to light up like a Christmas tree. Not only that, but seemingly overnight, the scientist had progressed from a "weirdo" (Marty's own word) to an individual the eight-year-old would defend against his siblings' taunts. Lorraine felt an inner urge, a _responsibility_, to nudge Marty into a friendship with Doctor Brown. True, the man had to be pushing sixty and was basically old enough to be Marty's grandfather, but Lorraine trusted Emmett Brown, had since she was a teenager. And for some unknown reason, the scientist seemed to already have a . . . connection to Marty. The way Emmett had looked so scared yesterday, after Marty was almost hit by the car. The time the McFly family had been watching the town fireworks, not quite a month after Marty's first birthday, only to have the young boy become panicked by the explosions of noise – that was, until Emmett had suddenly appeared with a timid smile and a small, homemade pair of noise-blocking earmuffs. "I fashioned them for my dog Copernicus, but he's gone now, so I no longer need them. I think they should work for your son." And they had. They'd worked so well that Marty had fallen asleep in the middle of the riotous grand finale.

And of course Lorraine would be remiss if she didn't consider the fact that Marty's name, while also a distant family name, had initially been chosen by her and George to honor Emmett's missing nephew.

Yes, if she encouraged this unorthodox friendship, Doctor Brown would be someone Marty could have to himself alone, someone he wouldn't have to share. She'd have to talk to George, and set some ground rules with both Marty and Emmett, but Lorraine could feel the beginnings of hope. She swallowed down any misgivings, and, placing a reassuring hand on Marty's shoulder, she sent a grateful smile to the scientist. Emmett's returned look showed momentary confusion, but then a wide grin spread across his face.

"Mom?" Dave's impatient call broke into the silent agreement. "Mom! Can we get our bikes now?"

"Oh!" Lorraine shifted her gaze to her older son, then waved him forward. "Yes, both of you, and hurry up, Doctor Brown doesn't have all day."

Both boys moved into the fence and toward the garage, Marty bounding ahead of his brother, chatting companionably with the scientist. Before the three entered the garage, Lorraine could hear her youngest's earnest, piping voice as it rambled on rapidly.

"Is your air conditioner really old? Do you think you could fix it, or should you just get a new one? We have one in our garage, we're not using it, it was my grandma and grandpa's but they moved to a condo and didn't need it anymore, maybe you could use it, or get parts out of it to fix your air conditioner. . . "

_**TO BE CONCLUDED**_


	5. Epilogue

_**Author's Note: **_This is the last chapter. It has a few scenes that are direct from _**Back to the Future Part III. **_At the end of this story, it is assumed that events occur following the familiar path of the rest of the movie.

As always, I do not own _**Back to the Future**_ or any of the movies' characters, and I am writing for fun and feedback, _**not**_ for profit.

I hope you enjoyed this story, and I welcome any reviews!

**-ck**

* * *

_**THE RESULTING PRESENT OF RESPECTIVE PASTS**_

**_Epilogue_**

* * *

**Thursday, September 3rd, 1885**

**10:14 A.M.**

**Hill Valley, California**

Emmett L. Brown had been staring ahead distantly for several minutes, still holding Marty's discarded clothes in the crook of his arm and the photo in his hand, when a horse-drawn buggy pulled up near the barn and interrupted the scientist's recollections. A well-dressed man exited the buggy, coming to the partially open doors. "Emmett? Ho, Emmett!"

Moving quickly to the doorway, Emmett came outside partway, blocking the visitor from entering. "Hubert," he greeted the mayor, "what can I do for you?"

The other man peered over Emmett's shoulder curiously, but all he could see was the large, double-decker contraption that Emmett had identified as a modified example of a steam engine (but was essentially an ice-maker). The mayor redirected his view back to Emmett just in time to see the blacksmith shoving something into the pocket of his vest. The movement drew attention to the unusual – and quite dirty – clothes that Emmett was holding. Hubert nodded at the bundle. "That young man that caused such a ruckus with the Tannen gang earlier, I heard he was dressed – oddly. And that you rescued him." The mayor chuckled. "You've taken him in, haven't you? Doing your civic duty again, eh?"

"No, it's not that; he's my – my nephew." The sham relationship had worked well enough in 1955.

"Your nephew?" Hubert repeated.

Of course, Emmett was 31 years older than the last time they had used that ruse. For Marty it had only been a few days, although no one except he and Marty knew that. "My. . . great-nephew," the scientist amended quickly, "my sister's daughter's son." He rambled on. "He's from out East. They . . . dress a little unusually. Fashions out of Europe, I suppose." Emmett looked back into the building, in the direction of the living quarters on the other side of the ice-maker. "I was hoping to get him some appropriate clothing from the mercantile," he said with a frown, "but I didn't want to leave him alone, as he's getting some rest right now. "

"Is he all right? I'm sorry, Emmett, I didn't realize he was family. I don't recall you saying you had a visitor coming."

"No, his arrival was completely unexpected. And yes, he should be fine, thank you for asking." With an effort, Emmett cleared his features and smiled at the mayor. "Is that why you stopped by?"

Mirroring Emmett's actions, Hubert shook himself lightly and smiled back. "No, actually I wanted to remind you about what you volunteered to do at the town meeting last week."

For a brief moment Emmett could barely recall the meeting; it was almost as if someone else had attended it, and had only just relayed the events to him after the fact. _How could I be at a town meeting in 1885? I live in 1985!_

Then everything clicked; the puzzle pieces locked into place. Marty's arrival had not only brought back the memories of the teen's reappearance in 1955 (and the few days after, wherein they had made their plans for Marty's rescue attempt), it had also reminded Emmett of his "outsider" status. He'd been literally dropped into this time zone some eight months ago (well, eight months, three days, 10 hours and about . . . 15 minutes). He himself had been wearing strange clothes and had arrived mid-air in a vehicle that would not be manufactured for another ninety-six years. Fortunately, the DeLorean had been less than fifteen feet off the ground when it had materialized in 1885, and he'd been able to maneuver it to a safe landing, without serious damage to the vehicle or to himself. By another stroke of luck, his midnight arrival in 1885 had taken place in a mostly rural area. Even those living near enough to hear the sonic booms had dismissed the noise as New Year's Eve revelers, shooting off guns or fireworks to celebrate the change of the year. There had been a few "tall tales" in town, from folks who spoke of a noise like thunder that hadn't coincided with any explosive display or lightning storm, but the tales had faded in the absence of proof.

Emmett had heard one or two of the whoppers himself when he'd been at the small mercantile, obtaining the clothes and sundries that he'd needed for a bare minimum existence; at that point, he'd still been unwilling to consider himself stranded 100 years out of his truthful time. Even when he'd taken up lodging in the old livery stable, and had soon become to go-to person for shoeing horses (as well as other duties that skirted the line between blacksmith and scientist/inventor), he had still thought of himself as "crazy Doc Brown" and was waiting for everyone else to realize it as well.

But no one ever had. The town had taken him in as one of their own. His contributions were appreciated, even valued, and he was always referred to as "Mr. Brown" or "Emmett," depending on the familiarity of the person addressing him. Never "crazy" or "nutcase" or "weird" or "recluse". . . but also never "Doc." Until Marty showed up. And while Emmett would never miss the other monikers, he had truly missed the trusting affection in how Marty spoke the nickname, which the teen himself had christened him with, nearly a decade before.

Emmett again glanced back toward his living quarters before answering Hubert. "Oh, yes, yes, the meeting. Excuse me, I'm a little distracted."

The mayor nodded knowingly. "Quite all right. You had volunteered to meet the new schoolteacher at the station when she came in, and to take her to her home. Well, we just got word she's coming in tomorrow. Here are the details for you." The mayor handed a piece of paper to Emmett; the other man shifted his hold on Marty's clothes so that he could take the paper. "I do hope you're still available." Hubert lifted his head and gestured with his chin at the inside of Emmett's barn/workshop.

Emmett gave a small wave. "Oh, no, it'll be fine, fine." He looked back down at the paper. "The eight o'clock train? That's not a problem. I just need to get Mar– my nephew some suitable clothes, and he could accompany me."

"Good, good." Hubert frowned. "The new schoolteacher is from out East, as well. I do hope she dresses more conservatively than your nephew."

Emmett blinked, unable to think of response. "Ah. Well." He smiled weakly.

Hubert smiled back. He shook Emmett's hand, voiced his thanks, and tipped his hat in preparation to head back to the carriage. The mayor had only gone a few steps, though, when he turned and called to Emmett. "Oh, and her name's Miss Clayton – Clara Clayton."

Then Hubert again turned away from the scientist/blacksmith, so he wasn't privy to the dropped jaw – and dropped clothes – elicited by the name of the schoolteacher.

**10:44 A.M.**

Marty had barely been asleep an hour, comfortably on his stomach with his face pressed into the pillow, before Emmett was shaking his shoulder. "Marty! Marty, wake up!"

The teenager grumbled something that was muffled by the pillow, then attempted to burrow himself deeper into the mattress. Emmett shook his shoulder again, more firmly than the last two shakes. "Marty!" he repeated.

Marty finally rolled over, blinking up owlishly at the anxious face staring down at him. "Doc?" he said softly.

"I wasn't going to wake you up so soon, but something's happened, or will happen, and I need to talk to you." The scientist strode away from the bed, then turned on his heel and walked back. He was holding a paper in one hand, and in his other hand –

"Oh, Doc." Marty sat up, draping the light blanket around himself. "I was going to show you that, but everything kind of went crazy, with Bi – Buford. I'm sorry, I wanted to explain that when you saw it – "

Emmett waved him off, his face creasing with impatience. "I remember seeing the grave, Marty, and you taking the picture. But this – " he lifted the hand holding the paper. "The mayor stopped by while you were asleep, and brought me this. I had volunteered to escort the new schoolteacher to her home, when she arrived on the train. She's expected tomorrow – and her name is Clara!"

Marty rose, the blanket puddling at his feet. "What? Let me see that!" He pried the paper out of the older man's hand, and sitting down again, began to read it. A few moments later he looked up, his eyes wide. "Beloved Clara," he whispered, letting the paper fall on the bed beside him.

Emmett sat as well, sinking down onto a short couch. He dropped his head, staring at the photo of his tombstone. "Eighty dollars. That horse of Tannen's that he shot, after it lost a shoe. . . Well, he _says_ it lost a shoe. I don't do shoddy workmanship, Marty."

"You don't have to tell me that, Doc," the teen answered, smiling woodenly. Marty tried to not think of all of Doc's inventions that hadn't quite worked the way they should have. The model of the time machine that had caught fire in 1955, flying onto the floor to ignite a pile of rags, which Doc had needed to put out with a fire extinguisher.

Emmett rose suddenly and began to pace anew, winding effortlessly between furniture, work tables, and random pieces of equipment. Marty got a vague feeling of déjà vu, and found he was picturing Doc's 1985 garage/lab, and humorously comparing the two abodes. He had to jerk himself back to the conversation at hand, as he heard the scientist address him.

"What are we supposed to do about this, Marty?" Emmett was asking, holding the photo aloft. "I'm going to be shot on Monday! Who knows, maybe this 'beloved Clara' has something to do with it!"

"What, like you're protecting her honor or something?"

The older man removed his cowboy hat, running his fingers through his hair before replacing the headgear. "Protecting the honor of a woman I'd just met, to the point of taking a bullet?" He shook his head vehemently. "Marty, do you know the kind of repercussions there would be to the timeline if something like that occurred? I cannot risk any kind of a relationship with a woman for whatever reason, as that could disrupt the space-time continuum!"

Marty shrugged. "Doc, you're not even supposed to be here, and you've been living here for eight months – "

"Eight months, three days, ten – "

"_Doc_," Marty interrupted, "the point is you've already had interactions with a ton of people here, you're friends with people like the _mayor_, you do work for people like Mad-Dog Tannen. . . Don't you think you might have already done whatever 'disruptions' you're so worried about?"

Emmett paused, looking intently at his young friend. "That's a good point." He sat down hard on a nearby chair.

"So maybe that's what happened – happens. Or something like that. Something extreme enough that makes this Clara fall for you, or you for her." Emmett grunted in disbelief, but Marty was undeterred. "It happens, Doc. C'mon, what woman wouldn't fall for you? You're a pretty cool guy. Plus you're honorable, and decent, and honest." Marty smiled brightly.

As for Emmett, his expression was the exact opposite. His face looked sorrowful, and he again took off his hat, now running the brim through his fingers.

"I'm not too sure about that honest description, Marty." His brown eyes bore into Marty's blue ones. "I haven't been exactly truthful with you."

Marty stared back. The smile was still present, but it was now uncertain. "What are you talking about, Doc?"

Emmett sighed sadly. "Your memory. About how we met. That's not what I remember. Oh, I do remember our conversation at Burger King, and it was fairly close to what you described, but in my memories you had already been working with me for a few years, although initially it was in more of an unpaid capacity. As I recall, we actually met when you were fairly young – eight years old."

Marty kept staring, his brow furrowing. "I don't . . . You lied to me?"

"Not completely – as I said, we did have a discussion at Burger King, and you had minor injuries from an earlier fall from your skateboard. . . You had also damaged the electric guitar that you had recently received as a birthday gift. You wanted to get it repaired without your parents finding out, but you weren't sure you could afford it, as you had spent most of your money on the accessories for the guitar."

And there it was. The scene appeared in his mind's eye, as if it had always existed in his memory. Not August; no, it had still been June – a week after his 14th birthday. He'd been riding his skateboard to his Uncle Milton's, his new axe in a case looped over his shoulder. He'd been coming over to show the Chiquita travel guitar to his cousin MJ. And then he'd wiped out near Jennifer's house, and had tried to fall so that he wouldn't land directly on his guitar –

"Don't do that, Doc!" Marty exploded. He dropped his head into his hands, and his following words were muffled and desperate. "I don't know what to think, what's right and what isn't! I have both memories, and they both make sense, and it's giving me a migraine!"

Cursing softly, Emmett rose from the chair and went over to his young friend. He rested a consoling hand on Marty's shoulder. The teen tensed, but he didn't shrug the hand off. Emmett hoped that was a good sign. He began to speak, slowly and quietly. "In a way, both recollections are correct. You lived through one set of memories before you traveled to the past, and your actions in the past ultimately created the second set of memories, those that your family and I recall. The act of your father standing up to Biff gave him the confidence to adapt his behavior, and consequently, his future. That in turn affected your mother, your siblings, and you – well, the you I've had the pleasure to know for the last nine years."

Marty lifted his head, and Emmett was dismayed to see the teen's eyes were red. The young man wiped at them self-consciously before speaking.

"Nine years?" he repeated, his voice shaking slightly. "That's not – so, you're not the Doc I know – knew? The one I started working for when I was 14? I've only known you for _three _years. I mean, I knew who you were before that, but everybody knew who you were. . . " He shook his head. "I just don't get it, Doc."

Emmett sat on the bed next to the teen. "I am the same person. You are the same person. We might have made different choices based on our respective backgrounds, or based on the conduct of the people whom we interacted with, but we are both who we are supposed to be. I am a scientist and inventor who was a bit of a recluse, and who is somewhat obsessed with time." Marty scoffed lightly at this. The sound was a little rough as the teen was still emotional, but Emmett appreciated the effort, and he smiled before he went on. "You, Marty, have a family who loves you. You have a healthy relationship with Jennifer. You are – " Emmett broke off as he saw the sudden look of alarm on Marty's face. Correctly interpreting it, he was quick to reassure his friend. "Jennifer is _fine_, Marty – when you burned the almanac in 1955, the normal timeline was restored, and changed around Jennifer and Einstein. They are both perfectly safe."

Marty's alarm lessened, but a rueful expression had replaced it. "I can't believe I forgot about her. We just left her there asleep on the porch – "

"And when we get back to 1985, you will go over there and wake her up."

Neither said "_if_ we get back to 1985," although the thought occurred to each of them, and for a moment the only sounds in the barn came from the chatter of the people on the streets outside, and the soft nickering of the doc's horses.

Then Emmett gave a quick shake of his head, and continued on, knowing it was imperative that Marty understood.

"As I was saying, you have a loving family and girlfriend. You are an exceptional musician. And you are a good and loyal friend to me – just as I had stated in the letter I sent." Emmett had written the missive only two days before (although with Marty's appearance in 1885, he could also now recall reading his own words off of yellowed, water-stained paper in 1955). But at this moment, the words were as fresh to him as they were to Marty. "You really have made a difference in my life, for which I will always be grateful."

Marty's head was again lowered. He rubbed his eyes and swiped under his nose, but he didn't speak. The scientist tried one last assertion, and he felt his throat thicken with tears as he began. "Marty, no matter what memories eventually take precedence, whether from your original timeline or your altered timeline, they will be _your_ memories. Nothing will change who you are: a remarkable young man who I am proud to call my friend."

Marty looked up then with a watery smile. "Thanks, Doc," he murmured. "That – " he took a breath "– that helps." And the teen found that it actually did.

Emmett gripped Marty on the shoulder again, clearing his throat to dispel the thickness. "I am sorry for the confusion. And I'll help you work it out as well as I can."

Marty nodded, his eyes distant. "I was eight? How did that happen? How would my parents be okay with that?"

"Actually, it was partially your mother's idea. She saw that you were interested in my lab and experiments, and hoped that encouraging a mentor-student relationship between us would be beneficial, as she had been worried about your recent behavior. You had been acting out a bit – taking unwise dares, fighting with your siblings, getting into dangerous situations. . ."

"Did it help?" Marty asked with genuine curiosity. "Did I settle down?"

Emmett nodded with a smile. "Your temperament did level out quite a bit. About the only thing you seem to be stuck on is reacting poorly when your courage is called into question – "

"The car!" Marty exclaimed. "Dave was teasing me about being a chicken, and I ran after him, and I almost got hit by a car!" His wide-eyed recollection was quickly replaced with an expression of disgust. "What is it with me and getting hit by cars?" he muttered.

Emmett laughed unexpectedly, then tamped down the amusement. "You remember?"

"Yeah. I was kind of mean to you. But you were nice to me and Dave anyway, even after we knocked over your garbage cans. . . You know, it wasn't just your lab and your inventions that I was interested in. You were pretty interesting, too. I really didn't expect you to be basically normal, and _nice_. The kids, they all talked about you being crazy and a mad scientist and all that, and I was pretty young, so I ate that all up." Marty ducked his head shamefully, not wanting to meet Emmett's eyes.

Emmett chuckled again. "Marty, that was before you knew me. And of course I understood." And he had, once he had gotten over the initial disappointment in the juvenile Marty's impolite manner. "Please, don't concern yourself with something that we settled long ago." When Marty lifted his head, he saw the scientist smiling at him sincerely. The teen nodded back with a hesitant smile.

Emmett clapped his hands on his knees in a gesture of completion, then rose from the bed. He pulled a pocket watch from his waistband, and compared it to the several clocks hanging nearby. "We have a lot to do, starting with first getting you some appropriate clothing. Come, we can't afford any wasted time. At least, not until we can confirm the capability of the time machine."

Marty looked up with a wry grin. "That's the Eagles. 'Wasted Time.' A good one for your Seeburg, but maybe a little slow." The young man's grin widened. "When I first met you, I remember you told me you had some songs by the Stones on your jukebox. I didn't realize until later that they all had 'time' in the title. 'The Last Time.' 'Time is on My Side.' 'Out of Time.' 'Good Times, Bad Times.'"

Emmett was grinning as well, pleased with how Marty now seemed to be easily recalling the memories of his altered timeline. "Don't forget 'Time Waits for No One,'" he reminded his young friend. "So let's go!" Emmett looked at Marty's sock-clad feet. "I have another pair of boots you can wear until we get some that fit you, and –" Emmett grabbed his overcoat from where he'd discarded it earlier, and tossed it to Marty "–you'd better wear this. I know it's too large, but it's preferable to you going out in just those underwear – or in the clothes you arrived in."

After Marty had pulled on the oversized boots, he rose from the bed to shrug into the long overcoat, and in so doing, knocked the paper from the mayor onto the floor. Picking it up, Marty held it out to his friend. "Doc, don't forget this. Clara's arrival information."

Emmett scowled. "I don't think I'll need that, Marty. Miss Clayton will have to find another way to get to her house. As you pointed out earlier, my presence in this time period has caused untold disruptions, and I can't risk the involvement of an unnecessary relationship. Not to mention, we have much more important things to do." The older man gestured for Marty to follow him, then turned to leave, ignoring the paper that Marty was holding.

Shrugging to himself, Marty folded the paper in half and tucked it into the pocket of Emmett's overcoat.

_**END**_


End file.
